Legacy
by Hanna Sedai
Summary: Apprentice AU. On the eve of his twenty-first birthday Dick Grayson participates in a botched contract that leaves the wrong person dead. As Slade tries to minimize the fallout events begin spiraling completely out of his control.
1. Chapter 1: In Bruges

**Disclaimer: I don't own anyone. **

**A/N: I mostly wrote this for my own amusement and heavily debated with myself if I was going to post this, as I've been wanting to retire from fanfiction. But after watching the Breaking Bad finale I just had to get this plot bunny out of my head. This fic is written in the spirit of dark and gritty crime stories. All references to crime movies/ TV shows/books/comic books are intentional. **

**This fic will have a very different feel than other apprentice fics I've done. This means that the fic will be darker than the others (I know it's hard to imagine), and the Titans may not have POV sections, just so you know. And there will be some profanity. **

**Special thanks to shutupshea aka Kirokokori for creating the cover and Kryalla Orchid for suggesting the title. Update schedule and other shenangians will be at the end of the chapter.**

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**Part 1: **

**Los Hombres Están Muertos**

* * *

"**Run fast for your mother, run fast for your father**

**Run for your children, for your sisters and your brothers. **

**Leave all your love and your longing behind**

**You can't carry it with you if you want to survive." **

**-"The Dog Days are Over," Florence and the Machine**

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**Chapter 1: In Bruges **

** -SW- **

** Bruges, Belgium**

In a desperate act of camaraderie, Slade decided buy his apprentice a drink at a local bar. The kid was old enough now, and that was what friends did.

Bruges was a nice city. Slade and Dick had hurried over the border just last night to escape the authorities, and neither of them had gotten much sleep. Today, though, Slade decided that he wouldn't bother leaving Europe. He knew that the police were still looking for them, but after last night's fiasco Slade made sure to cover their tracks extra carefully.

In earlier years Dick would have demanded to know where they were going, but now he simply didn't care, which frustrated Slade. Did he even know that he was in _Bruges? _Slade would have loved to come to Europe at his age, and to such a beautiful Belgian city.

Instead of spending that night inside the safe house, Slade decided that they needed to go out into the city. As most of the tourist attractions were closed by the evening, there was really nothing else for them to do than go out and have a drink. Slade needed one. Last night's contract rattled him as well as Dick, even if he did not mention it to his apprentice.

Slade bought two drinks and moved through the crowd in the bar, finally spotting his apprentice through a window. Dick stood outside of the bar in the cold, his collars upturned to keep his reddened ears warm. He didn't talk to anyone and stayed just outside the circle of light emanating from the inside of the bar, leaning against the balcony that looked out at the city skyline.

"Hey, I just remembered that it's your birthday," Slade said. "Why don't we drink to it? You're twenty-one. Now that's something to celebrate."

Slade set down Dick's glass, a tall pint of Belgian beer he was sure the kid would like. Dick turned his head to look at him, cigarette smoke curling out of the corners of his frown. To Slade's surprise, Dick dropped a lit cigarette into his glass.

"If you're going to buy me a drink, at least have the decency to get me the good stuff."

Slade held out his hand. "Give me the rest."

Without another word Dick reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a box of cigarettes.

"What did I tell you about smoking?" Slade demanded.

"Don't do it."

"Smoking is a destructive behavior. Don't start."

"You don't like it because it reminds you of Adeline."

To Dick's surprise, as well as Slade's, Slade found himself slapping Dick so hard that the sound caused people to turn towards them. Dick held up a reassuring hand to the onlookers, his expression never changing as he rubbed his cheek. The younger man's eyes glinted deviously, as though he knew he had hit a nerve. People eventually looked away and conversation resumed.

"Now…" Dick said slowly, "where did that come from?"

Why _did _Slade hit him? For disrespect, certainly, but Slade had allowed Dick to get away with smarter comments the past year. Perhaps Slade too was on edge from their botched contract the night before, and the slight against Adeline had set him off.

"I never told you that she smoked," Slade said huffily.

"You don't hide secrets as well as you think you do."

The mercenary had never intended to tell Dick about his private life before he decided to take on an apprentice, but he had accidentally slipped to Dick that he used to be married. Slade must have mentioned it when he was lecturing Dick on the dangers of romantic relationships in their line of business.

"I'm sorry. That was uncalled for," Slade said. "You know better than to mention _her." _

"You're not sorry."

"How can you possibly know that?" Slade looked out to the city skyline. Though it was the first day of spring it was chilly tonight. "You're not a child, but you still need to grow up."

"You're one to talk."

Slade looked away. "Why are you acting like this? You haven't behaved like this in years." Slade lowered his voice, though it was no less venomous. "Stop acting like a child."

"You're the one who slapped me. Maybe you're the child here, Slade."

"You could leave now. You always had the chance to leave. Stop wasting my time with insults. What are you waiting for?"

"Honestly, Slade, it's a waiting game for me. Because that's all I can do now: wait. Wait for you to make a stupid decision. Wait for you to get killed on a contract. Because eventually, if someone doesn't murder you, then you're going to get caught. I was a hero long enough to know that. And truth be told, I don't even care if I'm arrested along with you, because I can't stand to see you getting away with this."

Dick took out another cigarette from an inside pocket and stuck it in his mouth, although he did not light it. A sudden thought struck Slade, a thought that he hadn't considered for a long while. No matter how often Slade thought of Dick as a child, he was certainly no longer one. So many times Slade had told him over and over again that Dick was his successor, and that one day he would have the skills to take over Slade's job. But even now, even when Dick was now twenty-one, Slade still treated him like an untrustworthy associate. He could no longer slap Dick around like he used to. Even hitting Dick just then was a bad idea. Dealing with a teenaged apprentice was so much different than dealing with an angry young man at his physical prime.

Perhaps it was strange to Slade because he had not expected Dick to carry his bitterness with him throughout the years. Certainly these last few years had been difficult, as Dick's emotional problems nearly brought the apprenticeship to a standstill, even after Slade knew that he had won. Most days Dick obeyed him without question. Yet there was always one word, one task, one bad day that would make him angry again. Slade had learned over the years that he could not respond with an explosion of anger of his own, and that some days Dick just had to be left alone. And, here and now, Slade did not dare rip that cigarette out of his mouth.

"Now you're just being annoying," Slade said. "Is this because of last night's contract?"

Dick threw back his head, strangled laughter escaping his mouth. "Five years later and you're still asking me that. You're a real piece of work."

Although Dick shrugged it all off, Slade could tell by Dick's tone that, yes, their last job troubled him greatly. Slade hadn't planned it that way—how could he have known what would happen?

"At least I'm asking you how you feel."

"'At least'?" Dick merely looked at him, his blank expression somehow emphasizing every tired line in his face. "You think a trip to Bruges would make me happy? Make me forget that you—"

"Everyone should visit Bruges before they die. I thought you'd like that."

The kid turned to leave. "Fuck off."

"Hey!" Slade raised his hand, as though to strike Dick again, but he stopped himself. The kid was just trying to goad him. It wasn't worth it. "Watch your mouth."

Everything about Dick—from the way his shoulders slouched to his expression of complete apathy—told Slade that nothing he said would get through to him. Not when he was in this mood. Dick leaned back, surveying Slade quickly, trying to determine if Slade would dare hit him in public again. To Slade's relief, Dick slouched and glared at him. "Fine. I will. Not like it matters."

"No, it doesn't matter," Slade said. "But when you're around me I expect respect. You know that."

"It's my twenty-first birthday and I don't even want to go out and get drunk. It's not even worth the hangover." Dick saluted him sarcastically. "I'll see you back at the apartment. I'm done."

**-DG- **

** Safehouse **

** Bruges, Belgium**

The safehouse in Bruges was a lot nicer than many of the others Slade had in his inventory. It actually had nice furniture and Internet. Not that Dick used the Internet anyway—his laptop and cell phone had several restrictions on them to prevent him from contacting any person he actually wanted to talk to.

For this weekend in Bruges Frannie—one of Slade's contacts—joined them. Like always, Dick didn't like spending time in the safehouse. He secretly wished that the police would burst in one day, though he didn't want to kill any policemen.

He looked over at Slade and Frannie, who were talking over drinks at the living room table. Slade had come back to the apartment a few hours after Dick did, and Slade was noticeably intoxicated. How strange—during the first years of the apprenticeship Slade never got intoxicated, but now he seemed careless. Dick didn't care. Slade took care to hide the controller whenever he did decide to become intoxicated. It was likely back in the States with Wintergreen, completely out of Dick's reach. At this point, however, the controller didn't matter, as Dick was so entrenched in this nasty business that he was beyond redemption.

"I'll be outside on the balcony," Dick said quietly. "If that's all right with you."

Slade and Frannie looked up at him, as though surprised to see him there. Frannie frowned, as though she thought it strange that Dick still asked for permission to move around the house.

"Yes, that's fine," Slade said, waving him away. "Just keep the curtains open."

_Why? You afraid I'm going to jump off the ledge? _

Well, there was no point arguing. It was getting late, though he didn't feel tired at all. No one had told him to go to bed, though at this point he really didn't need anyone telling him anything. He was expected to follow the habits ingrained within him during these past five years.

He supposed that Frannie was all right. She was one of Slade's contacts from way back when, and seemed to know him well, judging from the way they chatted over tumblers filled with expensive whiskey. When Dick and Slade arrived in Europe they immediately went to her. It was too much to hope that she would help him, after all she had been through with Slade.

Dick barely looked up as the old woman opened the sliding glass door and sat next to him. "It's your birthday?"

"Yeah."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-one."

"It's your twenty-first birthday and you're stuck in here with us old farts?"

"It's not like I've been celebrating my birthday the past five years anyway. Where's Slade?"

"Brooding in his room. Not sure if he's turned in for the night. Probably not." Frannie paused, her smile twisted with amusement. "You're not even going to sneak out and get laid? You're a good-looking young man. There are lots of young Belgian ladies out there who'd love to have a piece of you."

Dick merely looked at her. They stared at each other for a good long while before he turned his attention back to the city skyline. He heard her get up from her chair, open the door, open a cabinet, and heard the chink of glasses. Dick knew long before she came what Frannie was bringing back with her.

"Have a drink?" she asked.

He glanced at the bottle. It was the forbidden stuff. The amber liquid, the expensive stuff that Dick never drank because Slade never let him.

"No thanks," Dick replied, holding up a hand. "I don't need it."

"Oh, I think you do." Frannie poured him a glass. "Take it. I insist."

Slade's words—the ones he said when Dick first met Frannie—came to mind: treat her as though she were Slade, or even Wintergreen. She was on top of the totem pole. Why the hell not? Dick took the glass and murmured a low thanks.

"Happy birthday, kid," Frannie said, clinking her glass with his. "Maybe next year you'll do something crazy."

He took a drink with her and spluttered. The stuff burned down his throat, and then settled warmly into his chest. How could people drink this stuff with a straight face?

Frannie opened a box of cigars and leaned in close to whisper. "You can have a smoke as well. He's not watching."

How much did Slade tell her about the night before? She handed him a cigarette lighter, though she took it back gently when his fingers shook too much for him to light it. Frannie lit the cigar for him and stowed the lighter away in her chest pocket once she had also lit her own.

Dick hadn't meant to start smoking, but lately he just didn't care and pinched a pack whenever he could. Smoking was strangely therapeutic, though the cigar tasted bitter. Every time Slade caught him he was punished for it, but as time went on Dick realized that he could push his limits slowly, and eventually make Slade not care so long as he did whatever he was told to do. He coughed, but after a few tries he learned not to inhale the smoke. Frannie chuckled and leaned back in her chair. "You're ok, kid."

An uncomfortable quiet crawled between them. Dick had never had a private conversation with Frannie, and he didn't know how to talk to her. Would she relate the whole conversation with Slade, or would she keep everything a secret?

"You're aware of our arrangement?" he asked quietly.

Slade liked to lie about their relationship, even to the people in his network of contacts. Unless Dick asked those contacts directly, most of the time he had no idea if they were aware that Dick had no desire to be there at all. Best to know if Frannie knew before they continued talking.

"The extortion? Sure, I know about it."

"And you don't think there's anything wrong with it?"

"Guess what, honey, I know for a fact that Slade Wilson is fifty shades of messed up. What's his business is his business, and in the end I can only advise him."

The combination of alcohol and nicotine calmed him. For the first time in months he felt relaxed, though deep down he knew that nothing was okay, and that this extraordinary calmness was only temporary. He closed his eyes as he exhaled cigar smoke, enjoying how wonderful the cold night air felt on his skin.

"I still don't want to be here."

"I know." She reached out and turned his face gently towards the light. "He hit you again."

Hearing her say that so bluntly made him wrench his head away. "That's nothing. Then again, I don't think mentors are supposed to hit their charges."

Twenty-one years old and Slade was still treating him like this. Incredible. Perhaps he needed that drink after all.

"Slade has told me many things, Dick, as has Will. I know about the contract last night. Are you really all right?"

"Why do you care how I feel?"

_No one else cares how I feel. Maybe they feel pity, but none of Slade's friends would help me. Not ever. Not when they're all in this together._

"People do care, even if they don't show it." Frannie sighed. "It's hard not to feel sorry for you."

"Tell me something, Frannie, tell me something that Wintergreen can't tell me: why does Slade bother with me at all? Even when I try to follow his orders I still mess up. I can't _want _to do what he asks me to do, no matter how much I delude myself. I'm a terrible assassin and he _knows _it."

"You have talent. Even I can see that, despite your past and your problems."

Dick took another long draught of his cigar. He had no idea if this was considered a good or bad cigar, but if Slade occasionally smoked these then Dick could take a guess at its quality. "From what I understand there are very few people who actually _want _to kill others. Most people only want the money, the benefits that come from killing people. That's what Slade wants: the money. But I don't want to kill people. I don't want money. I don't want prestige. I just want out."

Why was he telling her all of this? Dick didn't know. She was likely to relate everything he said to Slade. He knew that Wintergreen did.

He heard heavy footsteps, and then the sliding glass door sliding open. "There you are, Dick." Slade frowned. "You smell like smoke. Did you—?"

"Blame me, Slade," Frannie said. "I'm a bad influence."

Hah. It was worth smoking just to see Slade annoyed. Slade picked up the ashtray and shoved it in Dick's face. "Put it out. Now."

As Dick obeyed, Slade glanced over at Frannie as though to say, "you see? Can't trust him with anything."

"I guess you two need some time alone," Frannie said, getting up from her chair. "I'll be inside if you need anything."

Slade took Frannie's recently vacated chair. Dick drained the rest of his glass before Slade could take that away too. Slade glared at him, looking as though he wanted to reprimand him for drinking and smoking, but then his face softened.

"I know you're upset about our last contract. I'm sorry. I didn't know about the child. I already wired the money back to our client. Everything's been sorted out as best as they can be."

It wasn't the first time a child had been involved in their contracts. Sometimes the men Slade was hired to kill were also keeping children captive and, even considering Dick's predicament, were far terrible people than Slade was. At the very least Slade was a man of his word and did not hurt Dick beyond what was necessary. Slade kept his word: the Titans had not yet been murdered. Those kind of contracts really put things into perspective. Things weren't so bad for Dick as they were for other kids. Really, except for the killings, things were as okay as they could be with Slade Wilson.

"I know you're upset with me," Slade said, "and you have every right to be. But there's no need to tell me to _die already." _

"You and I both know that I've been thinking that for a while."

Dick had had enough of Slade's bullshit. By now he had learned to ignore most of Slade's lies and only paid attention to the orders that mattered. Although he had spat those words out of spite, he knew that Slade would punish him somehow for his disrespect.

"Why don't you try asking me what I want instead of assuming?" Dick asked.

"We've had this conversation a million times—"

"And we'll have it a million times again until you _listen to me."_

Their arguments, while occasionally violent, were getting increasingly less so. Dick noticed that Slade was becoming more reluctant to hurt him. He had difficulty remembering when they last tried to pound each other to pieces in a full-blown fight. Not that it mattered, since Slade could still beat the crap out of him.

"Whatever." Slade got up from his chair. "I'll leave you alone tonight. I'm angry about the child as well, just so you know. No need to be upset at me, because I didn't know."

"Fine."

"You could have gone out, you know."

"I don't care enough to go out. I'd rather drown in the canal than celebrate anything tonight."

Slade glared at him. Now Dick was pushing his limit. Any more smart comments and he would face immediate consequences.

"Good night," Slade said, rather gruffly. "I'll see you in the morning."

Slade slammed the sliding door shut so hard that Dick heard Frannie scold him. Whenever Slade knew that children were involved he organized things carefully, if he also wanted to involve Dick. In those cases Dick never killed anyone, but he saved the children. Some part of him knew that Slade organized those contracts especially for him so that, in a bizarre way, he could still call himself a hero. That what they did was for a reason, and that all of the people Slade killed deserved to die.

Dick always saved the children. Except for last night. Last night a child had died, and it was all his fault.

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**A/N: My new job and my volunteer work have improved my Spanish greatly, though I'm still learning and have been trying very hard to become fluent. All Spanish translations will be done by me. Feel free to correct me. **

**I am participating in National Novel Writing Month (feel free to add me as a buddy if you are also participating), so I hope that I will be able to write my novel and this fic. Updates will be on Tuesday nights (though November will be rough), as that falls on my day off.**

**Like the chapter? Hate it? Let me know in a review. I know it was a risk to have Dick smoking, but I've always imagined him to have some sort of substance abuse problem if he had to be in the apprenticeship for a long time. It won't be a big thing, as I normally don't write that kind of thing, but I guess Breaking Bad influenced me quite a bit. Please review! **


	2. Chapter 2: Recuperating

**Disclaimer: I don't own anyone. **

**A/N: **

**To Lia and everyone on tumblr asking me about Northern Star vs this fic: Well, in my head this is a separate timeline just to help me write it, but you can certainly think of this fic as an AU of an AU if you want to. The only problematic thing is the JLA, which will not be featured in this fic, so I do encourage you to think of this fic in an entirely new context. **

**EDIT ON FIRST CHAPTER: apologies, I had some factual errors in the first chapter, if anyone noticed, and I fixed them.**

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**Chapter 2: Recuperating **

** -DG- **

** Safehouse **

** Bruges, Belgium**

Dick could not fall asleep. He laid on his back on the unfamiliar bed in the unfamiliar bedroom, staring at the apartment ceiling. There were people still awake upstairs. He heard them shuffling around, their muffled voices speaking in rapid Flemish.

Violent memories tumbled in his mind, preventing him from falling asleep. What was the point? So long as he was awake he could control the memories. If he fell asleep he wouldn't be able to stop himself from screaming.

Dick got up heavily and stared into the darkness, his eyelids pregnant with weariness. After a moment he got up and went to the bathroom. He flicked on the bathroom light and looked into the bathroom mirror. He hadn't looked well in five years. His slightly sunken appearance wasn't due to the abuse or lack of sleep, but sheer mental exhaustion.

He filled a glass with water and drank, but his stomach still rebelled. Dick leaned over and vomited into the toilet. It was as though he wanted to purge his body from everything awful that had happened in the past forty-eight hours. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead and his arms trembled. He flushed the toilet and wiped away the sick from face with the back of his shaking hand.

"Dick?" The bathroom door swung open. "You okay?"

Dick had gotten used to Slade invading his personal space, but that didn't mean that he would ever get used to it completely. Something lurched in his stomach, and he leaned over the toilet to vomit again. The mercenary caught him and held him as he vomited, rubbing his back in soothing circles as if he were a sick child. "It's okay. I got you."

Dick vomited until he began dry heaving. When he spoke, it was with great heaving gasps that left him winded. "Go away."

"I heard you. I was in the living room. Couldn't sleep. Not like I could with you vomiting next door." Slade moved away to fill up his glass with water. "Here. Drink this and go back to bed."

It didn't take a genius to realize that Slade had been up drinking the entire time Dick was trying to sleep. Slade wasn't dressed in his pajamas and he reeked of alcohol.

"Why do you bother with me?" Dick asked, his voice shaking. "I'm more trouble than I'm worth."

Even when Dick tried, he knew that he was not the apprentice that Slade had expected him to be. He had hoped to demonstrate that he wasn't the best choice for the job, but his every failure seemed to encourage Slade to train him harder.

"In the end you always follow my orders. And truthfully, that's all that matters." The mercenary patted his shoulder reassuringly. "You'll be fine. Get some sleep."

Dick twisted his way out of Slade's grip. "Get the hell away from me."

He stormed out of the bathroom and back into the living room. Slade stomped after him, his voice rising angrily. "Why are you acting like this?"

"You can make me kill people all you want, but once a child dies then that's it. I'm through."

"Keep your voice down. You'll wake Frannie and the neighbors."

They looked up. The neighbors upstairs had stopped talking. Slade and Dick fell silent, as though waiting for the other to shout something stupid.

"We're not going to talk about this right now," Slade said.

"Then when are we?"

Slade bristled. "When this mess blows over."

"And when will it blow over, Slade? When will someone ever not want you dead?"

"Look, I'm just trying to help."

"Whatever." Dick made his way back to his room. "You're not my friend and you never will be. Get used to it." Dick slammed the door in Slade's face.

He rubbed his eyes furiously, trying to hold back his tears. Killing people who deserved it—fine. Dick could deal with that now. But let a child's death fly by him—that he couldn't allow. He had allowed so many deaths to stroll by him, but now he wanted to stop. For the first time in years he felt the urge to stop Slade again. Everything Slade made him do hurt someone else, and though he knew that Slade hadn't wanted the child hurt, he had allowed it to happen.

What was the point of it all? The Titans, Batman, everyone he had known before would have never wanted this for him. Dick didn't even want this life for himself. No point feeling sorry about himself, though. That wouldn't do anyone any good.

**-SW- **

** Safehouse**

** Bruges, Belgium **

Slade woke up with one hell of a hangover. His head throbbed painfully as he dragged his feet towards the small kitchen, where Frannie was already waiting with breakfast.

"Good morning," Frannie said. "Catch up on your sleep?"

"No."

"Seems like neither of you did. I heard a lot of shouting last night."

"It's nothing new."

Slade poured himself a cup of coffee and shoveled some eggs onto his plate. "Where's the boy?"

"Asleep. He's still upset. Probably will be for the next week. You've got that boy on too tight of a leash, Slade," Frannie said. "He's going to bite back, if he hasn't already."

"Oh, believe me, he has."

Slade stabbed his eggs. Finding new ways to annoy Slade was one of Dick's favorite pastimes. Every time Slade forbade something Dick turned around found something else to mock. While Slade accepted that this was part of the deal, he knew that he had to curb the boy's dark sarcasm and his temper.

"You need to give him some space," Frannie said.

"Tell me something I don't know."

Slade started eating. Being subjected to this conversation while suffering through a pounding headache wasn't his idea of fun, but Frannie was insistent.

"How many times has he fallen apart?" Frannie asked. "He seems a bit…unhinged."

"Really? In what way?"

"Well, I don't know him well, but anyone can tell that he's troubled. He's not taking this contract well."

"Why do you care?"

"You expect me to treat this boy as I treat you: like an old friend. I cannot do that if you continue to treat him like absolute shit."

"I don't treat him like shit."

The look Frannie gave him could have given him cancer. "He's twenty-one, for God's sake, and you treat him like he's eight. It's only a matter of time before he snaps and gets rid of you for good. Eventually he may fear for his life and sanity enough to do something stupid, with or without the Titans to hold him back."

"Come on, Fran, you know me better than that. I don't mistreat him."

Frannie raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Then start treating him like an equal." Frannie scowled. "You can start by fixing that clusterfuck of a contract."

Yes, even the great Slade Wilson made mistakes. He didn't know how he had missed the child during his research. This kind of carelessness would not happen again.

"You don't think I'm trying to help him? You sound like Will."

"It seems like you're running away to Bruges and drinking away your problem."

"I don't kill children. That's against my moral code. If I had known there was a kid I would have done things differently."

"Do you know who the child was?"

"A bystander. She wasn't related to our target."

"A victim?"

"I don't know. I don't want to know."

"How did she die?"

"An accident. Dick tried to save her, but…" Slade shook his head.

"Let him grieve, Slade."

"We don't have time to grieve." He looked at his watch. "Damn. He's not up yet."

Frannie put a hand on his arm. "See what I mean? You're controlling every minute of his schedule."

"He'll destroy everything I've worked for if I don't."

"That's no way to build trust."

"Old habits are hard to break."

"Still as stubborn as ever, I see."

Why was she looking at him like that? Slade didn't like it. He thought that Frannie would be the least judgmental out of all of his small group of friends, but maybe he was wrong about her.

"Why don't I wake him? He's been very polite to me, Slade. He won't be mad at me. And I must say that I'm impressed." Frannie sipped her coffee. "He's not a bad kid. You could have done worse."

"Yeah, I guess I could have."

**-DG- **

The next morning he picked at his breakfast. Frannie had the radio tuned to a German news station, as she could not understand Flemish. Dick only understood bits and pieces of it, as he had not yet mastered the German language.

"Eat," Slade said, nudging his plate.

"Not hungry."

Nothing seemed appetizing. Slade had already gotten up and eaten before him, and now the two adults were watching him closely, as though they expected him to blow up at any moment. Whatever for?

"You haven't eaten anything in the past twenty-four hours."

"I'm not hungry."

Dick pushed his plate away and set his head down on his folded arms.

"What do you want to do today?" Slade asked.

"It doesn't matter."

He knew why Slade was being nice to him: he didn't want to deal with another breakdown. After five years of mental conditioning, Slade was finally getting the hang of it. Dick suspected that the past five years were a trial-and-error period for Slade as well as him. He spent most of the early years bullying Dick, although as time went by Slade realized that he had to step back for a few hours—or days—to let Dick recuperate. Today seemed to be such a day.

"You're in Bruges and you don't want to do anything. How boring."

"I don't feel like doing anything."

"Why not?"

"Why are we still here?" Dick asked. "A _child _died, Slade."

"What do you want me to do?" Slade demanded. "Apologize? She's dead. Accept that."

"Accept it? Like I've accepted every single _shitty _thing you've made me do?"

"Watch your language. You've always had a choice."

_"Don't pretend that you gave me a choice." _Dick shook slightly as he sat there, his hands clenching into fists. "Stop pretending. Please."

Slade could live in his fantasy-land as long as he wanted to, but Dick was going to have none of that. Not anymore. If he was going to live this life, then he'd rather have the harsh reality. But Slade? He was a whole different story. Why did Slade keep accepting contracts? He seemed just as unhappy as Dick felt, sometimes. Neither of them had won, it seemed, in the end.

"You think I'm pretending?" Slade laughed. "I've been real about this from the beginning."

"I know you have, but you wrap everything up with lies. I can't pretend anymore." Dick's voice rose. "You let that little girl die—"

"Boys," Frannie said, rising her voice. "This is not the time or the place."

Hearing someone other than Wintergreen say that made them both shut up. Slade sighed and gestured for Dick to follow him.

"Where are we going?" Dick asked.

"Out." Slade threw him his coat. "Come on."

Sighing heavily, Dick pushed away his plate of food and followed Slade.

"I'll see you both tonight," Frannie said.

Slade grunted. Something about Frannie's tone made Dick pause in the doorway, and he briefly acknowledged her with a small wave.

The younger man followed Slade out of the apartment and onto the street, his pace slow enough to annoy the mercenary, but quick enough to keep up with him. He stuck his hands deep in his coat pockets, his expression blank, as usual.

"We're not training today or working on a contract," Slade said. "If you were curious."

Dick shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me."

They walked through the cobblestone streets, and as time passed Dick realized that they were _sightseeing_. Slade hardly ever went sightseeing. He was always too busy to do that sort of thing, but sometimes he tried. There was too much on Dick's mind for him to fully appreciate their surroundings. Everything seemed dull and uninteresting, especially in light of their recent contract.

Bruce always talked about taking him to Europe. As they passed a newsstands Dick scanned the headlines. Not that he understood Flemish—because he didn't—but sometimes the European papers talked about Bruce Wayne's charitable pursuits. Lately he hadn't seen anything about Bruce Wayne. Oh well. Maybe he would find something once they got back to the States. He didn't know why he tortured himself like that, but it got him something to look forward to.

"I thought it would be a good idea to take a walk around the city," Slade said as they stopped on a bridge. "I promise that we're not here on business."

"You always say that, but then we end up going somewhere on business."

"Even I need a break sometimes. Come on, it'll be fun."

"You say that about everything," Dick muttered.

Most of the morning was a blur for him, to be perfectly honest. He tried to block out all memories of his time with Slade whenever he could. No one passing by them knew just how messed up everything was, and Dick's blank expression did not betray the tumult inside him. Every waking moment, it seemed, was dedicated to reliving that awful contract. Every little girl that passed by them with her parents made Dick feel worse with each passing moment, and though he tried to block the memories, they eventually flooded through him.

_Their contract was in some little city in France. Dick had already forgotten the name of the city because the detail, at the moment, was not important. What was important was that he get this contract done quickly. International contracts made Slade extra antsy. _

_ "He should be on your floor," Slade said through the communicator's in Dick's ear. "Once he's dead then we'll clean up and leave the country. I'd like to be done in a couple hours. Is that clear?" _

_ "Yes, Sir." _

_ Dick moved cautiously through the house. He held his gun up, ready to be fired at a moment's notice. He had gotten over his reluctance to handle guns four years ago. The more contracts he participated in the more he realized that he needed the gun to protect himself, since Slade gave him no other weapon. _

_ "You gotta move," Slade said. "Our target is nearer you. I'm dealing with one of his henchmen right now."_

_Someone wept through a door. Dick opened it cautiously, and to his shock found a little girl sitting on the floor, tears falling down her face. She was too frightened to scream, though her eyes stared at the gun in Dick's hand. Dick knelt slowly and put the gun away, afraid of making her scream. _

"_Look at me," Dick said, shaking the child by her shoulders. "Please…" _

_ She looked just as terrified of him as she did of the man holding her captive. But she looked at him as he tried to look at her reassuringly. There was no way he could try to smile. _

_ "You can trust me," Dick said desperately. "I'm not going to hurt you. I want to help you." _

_ The child screamed as gunfire rattled the building. Dick almost felt like screaming himself, but all his years of training told him that it would do nothing. Instead he allowed the child to clamp her arms around his neck. _

_ "I told you to move!" Slade snapped through the communicators in Dick's ears. "Where the hell are you now?"_

_ "I'm a floor below you in one of the rooms," Dick said, mentally referring to the blueprint Slade had made him memorize earlier. "There's a kid here, Slade!" _

_ For once Slade was quiet. "What?" _

_ "There's a kid here. In the basement. I need to get her out." _

_ "She'll only slow you down. Leave her there until we have this sorted out." _

_ "No, we need to get her out now." _

_ "I gave you an order. Obey it." _

_ Dick could not let her go. She hugged his neck tightly as he patted her hair nervously. She spoke to him in rambling French, which he couldn't understand. _

_ "It's okay, it's okay, everything's going to be okay." _

_ How could he possibly promise this child that everything would be okay, that he would get her out of this situation when he couldn't even help himself? She couldn't even understand him. _

_ "DICK!" _

_ The communicators rattled his eardrums, but Dick didn't care. "I can't do this, Slade!"_

_ "Damn it!" _

_ Gunfire filled the air again. Dick ducked his head as he carried the little girl away, hoping against hope that he would not lose her. He was painfully aware of the gun hanging on his hip, but he didn't want to take it out again unless he had to. He might scare her. _

_ "Drop her." _

_ Their target stood at the other end of the hallway, his gun pointed straight at Dick. He spoke with a slight French accent. His name was Jérémie Dupont, a Frenchman drug dealer whose international market had done splendidly. One of his competitors had hired Slade to kill him, or so Dick understood. _

_ "Do you understand me, American?" Dupont demanded. "Drop the girl or I will shoot you both." _

_ Dick shifted the girl to one arm as he reached for his gun. "Do you know who I am, Dupont?" _

_ "I know that you work for Deathstroke and that you are here to kill me." _

_ Where the hell was Slade? He should have finished the job by now. Dick raised the gun and pointed it at Dupont. In normal circumstances his hands would have shaken with fright. But now he had a purpose. If he did nothing then he would be killed. He raised his gun and aimed it at his target. "That's right. But if you step aside and let me and the kid through, then I won't kill you." _

_ "I'm the one with the bigger gun. I will unload this entire magazine into you and the kid before you can even move." _

_ Damn. This was turning into a giant game of chicken. Obviously the girl was of some value to the guy, because he was hesitating to shoot as well. Dick sure as hell knew that this wasn't Dupont's kid. Slade's dossiers were pretty thorough about those kinds of things. If the guy so much as bought a lottery ticket while out he was drunk one night, then Slade knew about it. _

_ "I've fought worse than you," Dick said. "Even the plasma monster back at home isn't as big of a butthole as you." _

_ "Is that supposed to impress me?" _

_ "Yeah. In fact it is." _

_ Gunfire erupted all around them as Slade brought the gunfight to their floor. Dick's eardrums hurt as the girl screamed into his ear. He fired a warning shot at Dupont, who ducked out of the way and took cover behind a wall. _

_ "You had him a point-blank range and you didn't shoot him?" Slade snarled into the communicator. "Incredible. Watch your right." _

_ The warning came almost a second too late. Dick twisted awkwardly as gunfire came rushing down the other hallway on his right. Someone blocked his way. He almost fired two shots into the guy before he realized that it was Slade. _

_ "Give me the kid," Slade said, "I'll get her out of here. You finish the job." _

_ Instead of following his master's orders, Dick shook his head and tightened his grip on the kid. What was Slade trying to do, scare the kid? He was in uniform. If the girl wasn't scared before, she would be scared by Slade's freaking mask. _

_ "What the hell makes you think I trust you with a little kid?" _

_ "This isn't up for negotiation!" _

_ A horrible time for an argument, really. One of Dupont's men shouted something in French. _"Foutons le camp avant que les flics n'arrivent!"

_"Crap," Slade said. "The cops are coming. We need to get moving." _

_ Slade tried to take the kid away, but she screamed, trying to grab onto Dick's armor as Slade pulled her out of his arms. _

_ "Come on, Slade, we had a deal—" _

_ "We're not going to discuss this now." _

_ Wham! _

_ Dick kicked Slade's shin, which distracted him for just a moment and gave Dick enough time to take the screaming child back. _

_ "Don't do this now, kid!" Slade snapped. "Once we get out of this I swear to God—" _

_ A sudden explosion rocked the building and threw both of them off their feet. The girl accidentally let go of Dick and skidded down the hallway. A secondary explosion, much closer and more dangerous, lurched them even further away from each other. As Dick tried to launch himself towards the kid, Slade grabbed the back of his uniform and pulled him behind a wall as a third explosion blasted the hallway. _

_ He knew long before the debris had settled that the girl was dead. A fire had started at the other end of the hall and was consuming the area where the girl had gone. He knew that if he stepped outside that he would see her body. _

_ "Come on!" Slade shook his shoulders. "Dick, we have to go."_

_ Slade started shouting at him as he refused to move. Dick wasn't even aware that he was screaming until Slade clamped a hand over his mouth. _

_ "Get yourself killed if you want, but don't drag me into it," Slade hissed. "We're done. We're leaving, now." _

"Dick?" Slade's voice broke him out of his reverie. "We're getting lunch. You haven't eaten."

Oh. He hadn't even noticed that they had wandered into a little street full of restaurants. Uneasy thoughts continued to haunt him as they sat down and had brunch next to the canal. Dick spent most of the time staring out at the water watching the gondolas float by, picking at the food Slade had ordered for him.

How could Slade brush this off so easily? He had kids once. Dick didn't know them, but if Slade loved his kids, then how could he tolerate a child's death?

_Yeah. He had kids _once_. They probably got taken away by social services, which is how I got stuck with this lunatic. _

Maybe everyone just needed to chill out. Bruges seemed the perfect place to chill out and forget about the world for a little while. Bruges was an old city with winding canals and churches filled with reverent silence. The droves of tourists had not yet arrived, so it was the quiet before the storm.

Dick looked up at the pale blue sky. It really was a beautiful spring day in Bruges. The morning chill nipped at his ears, nose, and cheeks, causing them to flush red. As he took a deep breath he smelled the city air. Maybe someday things would be okay again.

"I'm going to take off for a while," Dick said. "Is that all right with you?"

The mercenary stiffened, and for a moment Dick thought he had asked at the wrong time. Being nice was only another technique of his: no matter how nice Slade appeared to be, it was always for another end.

_Aw, crap, _Dick thought.

After a moment Slade smiled, which made Dick feel uneasy.

"Here's a map of the city. Be back at the apartment by six. Tomorrow we're leaving the country."

"Fine." Dick got up from his chair and set a twenty euro underneath his glass. "This is for her tip."

Slade raised an eyebrow. "All right."

Whatever. It was Dick's blood money, and Slade gave it to him to do whatever he wanted with it.

"But," Slade said.

Dick groaned and turned around. "There's something you want me to do?"

"As a matter of fact, there is. Give me your phone." Slade took his phone, unlocked it and typed something into a navigation app. "We need new guns before we leave the country. You're going to pick them up for me at 3 o'clock at this address. Do this if you want to go out alone into the city today."

There was always a catch, wasn't there? "I thought we weren't here on business."

"We're aren't. I'm just making sure we have what we need."

"Fine." Dick put his phone back into his pocket. "See you later."

Dick didn't know where he was going to go during those three hours he had to kill, but he had a whole city to explore. Best make the most of it while he could.


	3. Chapter 3: The Bell Tower

**Disclaimer: I don't own anyone. **

**A/N: Hey guys! I'm putting this up a day early because I managed to get a lot of stuff done this week. **

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Chapter 3: The Bell Tower

**-SW- **

After he had paid the bill and resisted the urge to break down the twenty euro Dick gave the waitress, Slade made his way out. He too was not certain where he was going this afternoon, but he didn't care. He had a phone call to make. Slade unlocked his phone and called Wintergreen, who was waiting to talk with him.

"Hey, Will, it's me."

"What happened?" Wintergreen demanded. "I haven't heard from either of you in two days."

"Yeah, well, it didn't go so well. A kid died."

Will swore. "Why aren't you back yet?"

"Dupont's men probably have our every move tracked. I need to wait until everything cools off before we leave mainland Europe."

"Are you sure that's wise?"

"What else am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know, Sir. Perhaps not take any more contracts for a few months?"

"You know I can't afford to do that. Not now that we botched this contract."

"And I'm certain that Richard is not taking this well."

"No. No, he's not."

"Do you blame the boy?"

Did Slade blame Dick for what had happened? After all, he had made a deal with him not to interfere with any contracts that involved kids. But as the kid had been unexpected and visibly upset Dick, Slade had tried to correct the situation as best as he could.

"That doesn't matter," Slade replied. "What's done is done. Blaming each other won't help."

"I see. Well, in that case, well, why don't you come back to California and we'll get this all sorted out?"

"That's the plan."

"Where's Dick now?"

"I let him wander around Bruges. He needed to get out and about for a long while."

"All right. I'll see you two by this weekend."

Slade hung up. Holy hell, what a mess. He was certain that he would never conduct business with that particular employer again. Clearly Slade had over-estimated Dick's abilities. The boy wasn't ready for an international contract. All those months of training just backfired in a single night. Great.

He checked his phone again and saw that Dick was still hanging around town and wasn't anywhere he wasn't supposed to be. Slade had half a mind to lecture him properly about the contract once they got back to the States, but what was Slade supposed to do? Beat him for trying to save a kid? There was nothing wrong with that, yet at the same time Slade knew that he couldn't let this slide.

Slade made a decision. A severe lecture would do, just another talk to make Dick understand that he _had _to follow Slade's orders no matter how bizarre they seemed. If Dick had followed his orders, then maybe that child wouldn't have died. If nothing else, they could have completed their contract without so much fuss.

Now that Dick was out of his way for a few hours, however, Slade could get some things done without worrying about the kid. There were phone calls to make, threats to keep, the usual cleanup.

**-DG- **

He made his way to historic Bruges, the older part of the city all tourists wanted to see, aside from the swans on the canals.

He wandered into a church, where he dumped a ton of euros into the church donation box. Slade had started giving him a small percentage of their contract earnings about two years ago, and ever so slightly the cut grew as Slade delegated more tasks to him. By now Dick could move out of the Haunt and live comfortably by himself, if Slade would let him, but spending blood money was so unsettling that he hardly touched it. Maybe there was something wrong about dumping that money into a church's donation box, but it was the best he could do. He had no need for it, and Slade would know if he was hoarding as part of an escape attempt. This was Dick's best attempt at laundering his money away.

Dick left without taking a look around. It was unsettling to be here, especially after such a bloody contract. It didn't feel right. Instead he left and continued walking to the touristy part of town. In a few minutes he found himself in front of the Belfry, an old bell tower that also acted as a fire tower in ye olden times, according to the guidebook Dick picked up earlier. Dick stood in the middle of the market place and looked up at the Belfry bell tower, eighty-three meters high and a guaranteed asthma attack for anyone who dared climb up its winding stone stairs.

Well, it was in the visitor's guidebook. You had to do it before you left Bruges. Maybe take a selfie or two. Flood Slade's phone with stupid pictures of pigeons. The usual.

He went up to the ticket counter and produced a wallet full of euros. "One ticket to the top, please."

The vendor sold him his ticket and gave him directions, though Dick wasn't really listening to the guide's instructions. After wandering through the little gift shop he finally went up. He climbed up the tightly-wound stairs, using the fraying rope to ease his ascension. There weren't many other tourists there, not for this time of year. Thanks to years of training he had no problem ascending the stairs, though he had to stop and allow other winded tourists some time to walk down.

Dick ducked his head underneath the bell as he made his way to the balcony, where he could look out over the city. He stuck his hands into his coat pockets and studied the city skyline. This was one of the highest points in Bruges. Down below natives went about their business. The wind was a lot stronger up here, and the height could make anyone feel dizzy. Dick leaned over the edge of the window and stuck his head out.

_I could jump. _

Wow. It was a long, long drop. Starfire wouldn't be there to catch him. No one would be there. There was no guarantee that he would die once he hit the pavement. But jumping off the bell tower was just an invading impish thought.

Dick took out his cell phone and took a picture of the city skyline. Once this was done he sent the picture to everyone in his contacts list, which was a depressing two people.

_I'm at the Belfry, _he texted. _Having way more fun than you. _

It was a lie, but one of the many lies he told every day. He supposed that in another time he would have been having lots of fun, but nothing interested him today. So long as he checked in every so often through a text, Slade would leave him alone. Most of the time.

He didn't bother reading Slade's text, though he heard the notification noise. Dick looked at his phone and the blinking light that told him he had an unread text message. He held it over the balcony and considered dropping it. But, after a moment, he put it back in his pocket. Dropping a phone from this height could hurt someone.

Dick didn't move as a small crowd of tourists finally made it up to the Belfry, a group of man speaking in rapid Spanish. One of them gestured to him.

_"Está es el muchacho?" _

_"Yeah," _one of the other tourists said. _"Cuidado por la campana, Luis." _

_ "Yo lo veo." _

They seemed just as distracted as Dick felt, though they continued talking about him, and Dick knew because he was the only "muchacho" in the room. Dick turned to look at the other tourists. It wasn't the language so much that bothered Dick, but he noticed their accents. These guys did not speak Spanish with the soft Madrid lisp or other familiar European Spanish accents, but the kind of accent Dick had heard all the time in Jump City. And they were talking about him.

"You don't think I understand you?" Dick asked. "Why don't you talk _to_ me instead of talking _about_ me?"

Dick felt for the gun hanging in the inside of his coat and scowled when he didn't find it. Given the nature of his occupation, it was imperative to carry around a weapon at almost all times, except when he was around Slade. Considering their last contract, Slade conveniently forgot to give him a weapon today. There were three of them, though only one of them looked bewildered that Dick had understood them.

"Who are you?" Dick demanded. "And why are you following me?"

_Who do you work for? _That was the bigger question. If this was retribution for their last contract…

"Why don't we walk down nice and quiet-like, and then talk about it over drinks? Huh?" The man approached him. "It's too cramped up here. Downstairs we'll have more privacy."

"I don't think so," Dick replied. "Unfortunately, I have an appointment to keep."

"We both know you don't want to keep it. We know who you are."

"Is that supposed to be a threat?" Dick snarled. "I've been through hell. I don't care because it doesn't matter."

Slade had already done everything he could to use his friends to hurt him. Besides, Dick didn't have any friends. Not anymore. And if these guys expected to use Slade against him, well, that would be a real laugh.

"Just get the hell out of here," their leader snapped. "You're coming with us, whether you like it or not. We have this entire tourist trap surrounded with more men. One way or another, you're going to have a word with our boss."

Crap. These guys must belong to Dupont. Well, it was only a matter of time before retribution arrived. How long had they been following him? Dick chastised himself for being so stupid. He had been so wrapped up in his own depressing thoughts that he hadn't noticed anyone following him. Did they know where he and Slade were staying?

"Unless you tell me why you want to talk, then I'm not going anywhere."

"We're not here to negotiate."

Boy, like Dick hadn't heard that before. He raised his hands slowly and tried to smile. "Look, fellas, I don't think any of us want a shootout here. We'd all probably end up dead. So, why don't you go down and leave me alone? You can ambush me at the bottom of the stairs."

"Now, muchacho."

"All right," Dick replied, shrugging. "I'll go down now."

He turned and jumped out of the window.

People screamed as they looked up and pointed at him. Dick twisted in the air and shot his grapple hook towards one of the other buildings. When his weight finally caught on the cable his arms felt like they would be ripped out of their sockets. A hot searing pain raced across his palms as the rope burned his hands. Usually he'd be wearing gloves while doing this.

His knees rattled as he hit the cobblestones. His arms flailed widely as he tried to right himself. He didn't land nearly as gracefully as he wanted to. Dick stumbled over his feet, and his legs twisted so much he was afraid he had rolled his ankle. He ended up falling on the street again while people scuttled out of his way. Dick Grayson, graceful acrobat at his finest!

The men at the top of the tower took out their guns and shot at him. Great. Shooting at a historic building. Perfect way to end his weekend. There was nothing he could do but duck beneath awnings and get out of the open, preferably away from other people.

"GET OUT OF THE WAY!" Dick bellowed, waving his arms madly. "Go home!"

Most people got the hint and careened out of his way, some screaming as the men on top of the bell tower continued to shoot at him. Crap. He repeated his instructions in his awful German in the hope that those who didn't understand English would understand him. Somehow.

Dick ran right into a huge, muscular guy so hard that he immediately fell backwards onto the cobblestone street. His head spun as it hit the street. When his vision cleared he saw who it was, and his jaw dropped in astonishment.

"What?"

He scuttled backwards, trying to get back onto his feet, but the man stepped on Dick's coat. "You're not going anywhere, muchacho."

There was no point fighting back. If he made this guy angry, then he would be dead within seconds. But what else could he do? Roll over and play dead? Dick tried to wriggle out of his coat, but the man kicked him hard in the ribs. One of the henchmen ran up to them.

_"Jefe, Wilson no está aquí." _

"_Encuentralo," _the man snapped to his henchmen. He turned his attention back to Dick. _"Dónde está su amigo Wilson?" _

"Did you just call him my friend?" Dick asked, wincing as he crawled away. "Wow, have you got it all wrong."

Slade was going to be _so _pissed! The last thing Dick wanted was for Slade to come and save him. Man, once he got out of this he was going to be in a world of trouble.

"Where is Wilson?" The man growled.

"I don't know," Dick admitted. "Look, don't get me involved."

He had to run for it. If he got himself captured, then Dick wouldn't hear the end of it from Slade. Dick hated running away from a fight, but he knew this villain all too well. Dick slammed his feet at the guy's legs and launched himself off the street.

"You can't keep running away." The man grabbed the back of his coat and yanked him back. "Isn't that what you've been doing the past two days? Running away?"

A punch to the face sent him sprawling backwards. He landed awkwardly on the street, his body twisted and his head pounding painfully. Dick was surprised that he wasn't unconscious, given the pounding his head had taken today. Hopefully he hadn't suffered a concussion. As he pushed himself to his elbows he saw passerby scattering out of the way. He stood up and wiped away blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Fine," Dick said.

If he didn't try to fight, then what kind of mercenary was he? The man yelled as he flexed his muscles in response, which bulged at an alarming rate. Before Dick had time to think the man threw punch after punch at him. Dick dodged and went on the defensive, uncomfortably unaware that the henchmen were there circled around them, ready to push him back towards their boss if he stepped out of the circle. Unless he got out his grapple hook again, there was really no way out of this circle. At least he had speed and agility at his advantage, though Dick had a bad feeling that he was going to lose this one.

The guy grabbed Dick's incoming arm and threw him over his shoulder. Instead of letting Dick fall to the ground, the guy fell down with him and used his weight to crush Dick against the cobblestones, pinning him beneath his body so that Dick couldn't escape. The impact shook his entire body, and Dick yelped in pain. Something in his body had to be broken, something must be wrong, something…

Dick's wrists were pinned to the ground as the guy hovered over him, though he didn't try to wriggle away, as he was still numb with shock. For the first time in months he felt real fear, rather than the impeding fear he felt with the uneasy truce he had with Slade. Or perhaps he had simply gotten used to Slade's behavior, and this villain's actions were so frightfully animalistic—yet controlled—that Dick had no idea what to do. Though terrified, his expression was blank, and it would be until Dick completely assessed the situation. Showing fear would get him in trouble. His heart pounded against his rib cage as the guy leaned over him and snarled in his face.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Yes," Dick replied, his voice oddly steady. "Yes, I know who you are, Bane."

Bane. Freaking Bane. What the hell was he doing all the way in Belgium? Coincidence was out of the question. Judging from what he had asked Dick and demanded of his henchmen, Dick could correctly guess that Bane was here to settle a dispute with Slade. Awesome.

Dick searched Bane's masked face, though he could read nothing but anger. Did Bane recognize him as the first Robin? Or did he only know Dick as Slade's henchman?

"What do you want?" Dick demanded. "Are you here on Dupont's behalf?"

"No." Bane yanked Dick to his feet. "Get in the car and we won't shoot you."

Dick raised his hands over his head and watched Bane closely. "A wounded hostage leaves a mess," Dick replied calmly. "Don't worry. I'll cooperate."

Bane was clearly suspicious of his acquiescent behavior. He rapped another order, and Dick found his hands being handcuffed behind his back. Someone else patted him down quickly to check for weapons and instead found his cell phone, which they took away.

"You try to escape, muchacho, and I won't hesitate to kill you," Bane growled. "Now, you're going to get in the car and shut up."

Those guys had stalked him all the way up to the bell-tower just to kidnap him? And it was all because he was connected to Slade? If Bane wasn't here on behalf of Dupont, then who? Surely not on personal business? Dick didn't remember Slade interacting with Bane in the past few years, although who knew who Slade talked to when Dick wasn't around?

If anything, five years of being a hostage had taught Dick to shut up until he knew what was going on. Someone pulled a sack over his head as the van roared to life and careened down the narrow streets.

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**A/N: Haha, yes! I'm excited to write Bane, as I've never used him in a fanfic before, though I am worried about how I'm portraying him. Like it? Love it? Hate it? Let me know in a review! As always, feel free to critique and/or correct my Spanish. **


	4. Chapter 4: Phone Calls

**Disclaimer: I don't own anyone. **

**A/N: **

** Drinkerofthewind I feel ya! And thank you for your reviews! Can you even imagine their snapchats? The _vines?_ **

* * *

**Chapter 4: Phone Calls **

After a long while someone pulled the sack over Dick's head. Unfortunately, Dick found himself tied to a chair. He flexed his hands experimentally, feeling the knots with his fingers to figure out how to escape.

"Man, what was in that sack before, weed?" Dick coughed. "It reeks."

"Shut up."

He was going to be in so much trouble, but he didn't want to think about it. Dick knew that the situation was bad when he was more worried about Slade's reaction than his personal safety in the here and now. Bane and his minions were more likely to kill him than Slade ever would be.

Bane.

Dick gazed up at this hulking mass of muscle, his limbs freezing in fear. He recognized the guy from his earlier days as Robin, but would Bane recognize him? Did any of the villains in Batman's rogue gallery know that the first Robin was working for Deathstroke? Asking outright was stupid.

Bane bent down so that he was at Dick's eye level. _"Tu llamas, muchacho?"_

"Ravager."

When Slade asked him to come up with another alias, Dick had refused. He had toyed with a few new names, but he didn't want to accept the fact that he was beyond help. Slade eventually gave him an alias he could use during contracts, and it was only several months later that Dick realized that it had been Grant Wilson's former alias. Freaking guy really needed some therapy.

"Nah, we know that. Your REAL name."

"Dick." Dick spat his name like an expletive.

He felt the slap well before he was even aware that it had happened. Bane slapped a lot like Slade: an open-handed slap that had real power behind it. Not meant to seriously injure, but meant to make him feel like an idiot who couldn't even defend himself. Ah. Second time in twenty-four hours.

"Next time it'll be your eye," Bane snapped. "Or your neck."

"That wasn't necessary," Dick replied. "That is my name. Would you prefer to call me Richard?"

"Quit the attitude. I have no time for your smartass comments."

"Oh, you sound so much like someone I know."

Bane's hand wrapped around his neck. Dick felt his chair tipping backwards as Bane advanced towards him, his hand squeezing Dick's neck.

"Do you know who I am, Dick, and what I am capable of?"

"Yes."

"Do you know why you're here?"

"No."

For the first time in months Dick felt real fear. Even without the venom pumping through his veins Bane was a terrific opponent. Dick knew that Batman had difficulty defeating Bane with brute force; Dick didn't stand a chance if it came to a fight. He had dealt with enough crazy people to know that he just had to play along.

"Because you work for the guy we're looking for," Bane said. "If you're in trouble, then he'll come for you, his partner."

"Partner?" Dick echoed. "You think I'm his equal?"

Strangled laughter escaped him, alarming many of Bane's cronies. Dick couldn't help but laugh. As his Joker-inspired laughter settled down he regained control of himself. "I'm not his partner. I'm his prisoner."

Admitting this to someone other than Slade's trusted associates felt kind of good, to be perfectly honest. Bane let go of him. Dick's teeth clattered as the chair fell back to the ground.

"_Dios de mio_...you're Bruce Wayne's kid. Batman's brat."

Dick's blood froze in his veins. "What do you know about Bruce Wayne?'

A smirk spread across Bane's face. "A lot, muchacho."

"What do you know?"

Bane straightened and rapped orders to his men in rapid Spanish. The chair tipped precariously as Dick writhed angrily. "Hey! I'm talking to you!"

"I have no reason to tell you anything. So _c__á__llate_. Be quiet and perhaps we will not kill you."

What was going on? Bane was going to kill Slade. That was it, that was why Bane had followed them all the way to Bruges. Someone had hired him to kill Slade Wilson. And Bane thought he could use Dick as bait. Was he surprised to see the first Robin here? Wasn't it common knowledge now that the first Robin was Slade's apprentice?

"You don't know who you're dealing with!" Dick shouted. Someone moved to gag him, but he twisted his way out of their grip to keep talking.

"I think I do."

"No, you don't. Because I want Slade Wilson dead too."

Bane lifted a hand. _"No, Luis. Háblame, muchacho." _

The minion stepped away from Dick, who did not dare look away from Bane. Dick was playing with fire and he knew it. Perhaps this was his one chance to end this mess once and for all.

"I've been his hostage for years. I know all his major contacts. I know how he works."

"What's in it for me? Or you?"

"An easy kill for you. Easy money. And I get my freedom."

"All of Wilson's private information?"

"Everything you could ever want."

"How do I know you're not secretly working for him?"

"Do I really need to prove to everyone that I hate him? I want him dead, Bane. I've wanted him dead for a long time."

Dick surprised himself with these words. He had never said them out loud, but now that he spat them at Bane he realized that he very much wanted this reality. But Dick didn't want to be the one to do the deed. Or did he? Dick didn't know.

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because I'm your only lead. You don't have a choice if you really want to catch him." Dick bristled. "And if you don't believe me, then I have all the evidence you need to prove that he's treated me like shit."

The men glanced at each other, wondering how their boss was going to take this information.

"If you're his prisoner, then why was he letting you walk around like a tourist?" one of Bane's cronies demanded.

"Not all prisons are behind bars."

"I don't believe you." Bane crossed his arms over his massive chest. "Show me this evidence."

The slightest smidge of panic rose in Dick's chest. How could he prove it to them? He just lost a fight with Bane, so he couldn't prove that Slade had slapped him.

"Look through that phone," Dick said, gesturing to the guy who took away his cell phone. "I've been using that to document everything." Well, that was partly true. Because all of his data usage was monitored so closely there wasn't much on the phone, but there was enough. His text messages were wiped periodically, although sometimes Slade forget to check things like pictures and video. Yes, Slade Wilson did forget things. "Well, maybe not everything, but I have enough to prove that he's not really my friend."

His phone hadn't been wiped clean in a while. He had conversations recorded, files saved, so many important things he could use from this past month to convict Slade. The guy made sure to get rid of other incriminating evidence in case Dick did find a way out, but maybe, just this once, Slade had made a big enough mistake.

"What do I have to do to prove it to you?" Dick snapped.

"You will kill Slade Wilson." Bane leaned forward and stared menacingly at Dick. "Only then will I believe you."

Killing Slade was something he had considered before, but actually doing the deed was a different matter entirely. "Kill him?"

"If you want him dead, then you will kill him."

"Aren't _you_ being paid to kill him?"

"No."

"Then why are you here?"

Bane shifted his weight ever so slightly, making the chair creak beneath his massive weight. Dick was incredibly aware of everything and everyone in the room. How Bane sat close to him, and how he could easily hit Dick again. How the minions kept one hand on their guns. How he could not, for the life of him, undo these knots. And he wasn't used to seeing Bane so calm, as Dick had never seen him like that, even as Robin, and that scared him.

"My business is my own, muchacho. I only mean to kill Wilson, and if you don't cause me trouble then I, as well as my employer, will spare your life."

His employer?

"_You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch." _

_You really are a heel. _

_You're as cuddly as a cactus_

_You're as charming as an eel, _

_You're a bad banana with a greasy black peel!" _

The entire room glanced at each other at the sudden noise. Even Dick felt confused at first, until he realized that it was his cell phone with the personalized ringtone.

"Excuse me," Dick said. "I have to take this phone call. Would you mind untying me so I can answer?"

Bane nodded. Someone freed his hands and one of Bane's henchmen handed Dick the phone.

"Put it on speaker phone," Bane said.

"Sure. No problem." Dick pressed a button and braced himself for an earful.

"Where the hell are you?" Slade snarled. "You were supposed to meet my guys half an hour ago."

"Well, Slade, we kind of ran into a snag," Dick said. "It seems as though we have a bigger problem on our hands."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? When you get back here I swear to God—"

"Bane is in Bruges, Slade."

That seemed to shut Slade up. For once.

"What?"

"You heard me. Seems like his guys were waiting for me at the Belfry. They're probably waiting to ambush you too. Don't believe me? Bane's listening in right now."

"The boy is right," Bane said. "I captured him, Wilson. If you want to see your man alive, then you will surrender yourself," Bane said. "You have three hours to do this, or else we will kill him."

"Well, isn't that cheerful?" Dick asked.

"What do you want, Bane?"

"An exchange. I would prefer both of you alive, but you are my primary target. I am willing to exchange you for the boy."

"And what the hell makes you think that I trust you?"

"Because you have no other choice, unless you want the boy to die."

Silence followed those words. What was Slade going to do? Going out of his way to rescue Dick could be seen as a sign of weakness, and Slade hated showing weakness.

"Fine," Slade replied. "When and where, Bane?"

"I'll send you the coordinates through the boy's phone," Bane replied.

"Fine. Dick, do nothing more to compromise us. Is that clear?"

"Kind of hard to promise when someone has a gun to your head," Dick said. "But I'll do my best."

He hung up.

"You seem terribly calm about this," Bane said as soon as Dick had shut his phone. "What if your death is imminent?"

"Like I said: I've been a prisoner for a long time. I don't care anymore." Dick stood up and brushed dust away from his sleeve. "If you kill me, then what? I have my own problems. I'm not a threat to you until you seriously piss me off."

There was something about the tension in the room that Dick could not quite describe. Like everyone knew something he didn't.

"You were the first Robin, weren't you?" Bane asked.

"It was a long time ago."

Wow, even now people still thought of him as Robin. Dick turned towards Bane and put up a finger. "Let's get one thing straight: I've killed people, but I don't want to have to kill anymore. Not even him."

Bane laughed. "If I were his prisoner, then I would kill him."

A walkie-talkie crackled to life. "Let me see the boy, Bane."

A cool male voice spoke, one that Dick didn't recognize. Bane grabbed the walkie-talkie from his henchman. "But your instructions—"

"I saw the whole exchange through the cameras. The boy is telling the truth. Bring him to me."

"Okay, Señor." Bane glared at Dick. "Seems like you got a reprieve, muchacho." He grabbed Dick's arm and pushed him forward. "Let's go."

**-SW- **

Never once, in all five years that Dick had worked for him, had the kid ever been caught. Slade had made it clear that if Dick ever allowed himself to be captured by the police he would automatically kill the Titans. But Dick being captured by fellow villains? That was a whole different ball game.

He had to consider the possibility that none of this was Dick's fault. Neither of them knew that Bane was in Bruges.

_But he allowed himself to be captured. _

Letting Dick go off on his own so soon after that awful contract was a bad idea. Slade should have known that the kid would be so mentally unstable that he couldn't be trusted out on his own. Once this was over the kid was going to be in so much trouble for letting himself get caught. Never in all five years had this happened. Unlike Batman, who constantly had to rescue Robin during their partnership, Slade made sure that Dick never found himself in such a situation. If anyone tried then Slade killed them.

He had just been stupid and careless today. Pissed off at Dick's increasingly defiant behavior. Everyone was just pissed off at everyone else, which led to all these bad decisions. Slade picked up his phone and called Frannie.

"What's wrong, Slade?"

"I've run into a bit of trouble. It's nothing I can't handle."

Slade wasn't used to dealing with kidnapping cases. Usually he was the one doing the kidnapping. Yet at this point he couldn't just leave Dick alone. He was just as capable of compromising Slade's criminal empire as Slade was. Dick knew the ins and outs of Slade's business, even if he said nothing or pretended that he didn't care.

"With whom?"

"Bane, of all people."

None of this made sense. Why would Bane be after him? Slade hadn't dealt with Bane in a long time. He tried to keep out of Bane's way, mostly because he was more of a Bat villain. What if this had to do with Bane's connection to Batman? Through Slade's connection with Batman's first sidekick? Bane and Batman did have a sort of blood feud, after all. It wouldn't be the first time someone had used Dick to get to Batman.

"Bane? What does he want with you?"

"No idea, but I'm going to find out."

"You have a second? Let me see what he's been up to." Slade heard her typing on the computer. "Hmmm. Well. I think you should see this, Slade."

A notification noise told him that she just sent him a link. Slade looked at the information on his phone and his jaw dropped in surprise. Really? Things had gone that bad back in the States?

"Ah," Slade muttered to himself. "I see."

If Dick got any funny ideas in his head, any inclination to double-cross Slade, then this bit of information would keep the kid at bay. Slade smirked to himself. Maybe this whole thing was a mess right now, but Slade could twist this to his advantage.

_Dick wouldn't betray me. _

Well, Slade wasn't dumb enough to believe that. Dick may have gotten more complacent over the years, but Slade knew that Dick was just waiting for the perfect opportunity to take him down. Maybe even kill Slade. Hah. Dick murdering in cold blood? Dick was a lot of things, but he wasn't a murderer. Asking someone else to do it for him…well…that may not be beyond him. Who knew what Dick was thinking these days?

"Thanks, Frannie."

"Anytime." Frannie hung up. Slade immediately called Wintergreen, who had to be sleeping, considering the time difference.

"Will," Slade said.

"You better have a good reason for waking me up," Wintergreen mumbled.

"We're run into a bit of a problem. We may not get back by this weekend."

"Why?" Wintergreen sounded more alert. "Something with Dupont's men?"

"I don't know. I just thought I'd let you know." Slade paused. "Check the news if you haven't already. I think something happened in Gotham a few days ago, but it's only on the news now."

Telling Wintergreen the truth would only make him worry. If he heard that Dick had been kidnapped, then Slade wouldn't hear the end of it.

"I will. Take care, Slade." Wintergreen hung up.

Slade's phone beeped. One of Bane's men had sent him a text with the coordinates, just as promised. Tomorrow morning at seven am. Fine. That gave Slade quite enough time to come up with a counter-plan.

* * *

**A/N: I promise the next chapter will be longer, once the plot starts rolling! Have a happy Thanksgiving, everyone! And review! **


	5. Chapter 5: Negro y Azul

**Disclaimer: I don't own anyone. **

**A/N: Hello! I am feeling extra generous this week with the updates because I have lots of time off, I'm finally caught up on Doctor Who and Catching Fire, and I am done with National Novel Writing Month. However, this early update means that I can't update on Monday or Tuesday, as I am working through Black Friday weekend! **

**Have a wonderful holiday, and enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

**Chapter 5: Negro y Azul**

_Slade is going to be so pissed, Slade will be so pissed..._

Negative thoughts kept tumbling over and over in Dick's mind as he followed Bane's men through the building. Who the hell would be crazy enough to hire Bane? And why would Bane bother working for someone else? He was the kind of guy who would hire other people to do his bidding, not the type to work for someone else.

"So who hired you to kill Slade Wilson?" Dick demanded.

"Someone who wants him dead."

"You didn't answer my question."

"I thought you knew everything about Slade Wilson. Surely, you would know about this hombre."

"I only know what Slade's been up to these past five years," Dick replied. "He hasn't told me much about who he's dealt with in the past."

Slade still kept him in the dark, despite the fact that Dick knew so much about how Slade's networks worked. It was really irritating.

"You will know soon enough," Bane replied.

They walked through dark hallways. Where, Dick didn't know, but he tried his best to remember the way back. Dick stared at Bane's back and worked up the courage to talk to Bane.

"What happened to Bruce Wayne?" Dick asked.

"If I were you, I would not pry into Wayne's business."

"What happened to him?"

Bane whirled around and grabbed Dick by the scruff of the neck. "You don't work for him anymore. The information is irrelevant."

"Leave the boy alone, Bane. He's been through enough."

Both Bane and Dick looked up at the sound of the new voice in the room. Bane let him go. "I don't know why—"

"Leave the worrying to me, Bane. I'd like to have a chat with our guest."

Bane left the room.

The voice was unfamiliar. The man swiveled his chair around to look at Dick. He was, perhaps, a man in his late fifties, hard-set and well-dressed with dark brown hair graying at the temples. Dick didn't recognize him.

"So you're the boy Wilson's been training these past five years."

Dick said nothing. Best to let the guy ramble, if that was what he wanted to do. The man merely smirked when Dick didn't respond, as though he thought it was childishly cute.

"As Slade may have told you, I do not care about harming children. I certainly do not care if I kill you, so don't give me reason to."

Slade may have told him? "I'm sorry. I don't know who you are."

"Well, isn't that something." The man looked at him strangely. "Why don't you take a seat? Dick, right?"

"Yeah." Dick sat down in the chair the man had gestured, a nice chair he hoped he wouldn't stain with the blood dripping from his collar. "Who are you?"

"Call me Bill for now," Bill said, sitting across from him. "So sorry about the way Bane treated you, but you can understand our cautiousness, I'm sure."

This guy really reminded Dick of Slade. He didn't know what it was, since the two didn't look anything alike. It was the way the guy acted, Dick supposed. The body language, the arrogance, the feeling that he could erupt into violence at any given moment.

"You don't care, so don't pretend to," Dick said. "I can't stand deceptive kindness."

His words surprised Bill, if only for the slightest of moments. Then he nodded slowly, as though he approved this particular philosophy.

"Look at you, all black and blue. You were like that before went a few rounds with Bane, according to the security cameras. Guess you're telling the truth." The man smirked. Where the hell was this guy going? "So, tell me, Dick: how's Slade been lately? It's been a long while since I've talked to him."

"He's an asshole, just like always."

Bill chuckled. "Isn't he? I used with work with him."

"You used to work with Slade?"

"A long time ago. Probably before you were even born."

"Let's cut to the chase, Bill, and tell me what you want," Dick said, leaning back in his chair. "I don't want to get chummy with you or anyone else here."

"Why? So you can go back to Slade? I thought you were his prisoner."

"Yeah, well, Slade won't kill me, and you can." Dick eyed him warily. "Does everyone know who I am?"

"Given recent events, your secret identity is not exactly a secret anymore. By now everyone in the criminal underground knows who you are, Dick. Even if they don't know your real name, they know that you used to be Robin. I'm not in the assassin's ring, so I didn't know before today. I don't normally bother myself with assassins, but with Slade I'll make an exception."

What had happened while they were away from the States? Dick's heart fluttered madly. Surely something didn't happen to Batman...

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're a smart boy. You'll figure it out in good time."

"Why don't you just tell me?"

"Because I need you to cooperate. Not that I seem to need much to persuade you, as you're a desperate man."

"And why should I trust you?"

"Because you have no choice." Boy, did that sound familiar. "Now, it seems to me that we can solve each other's problems. We have a common goal, Dick: we both want Slade Wilson dead. He's done you a great injustice by keeping you a prisoner for five years. I want you to deliver on your promise to kill Slade Wilson. If I were you, I'd want to pull the trigger myself."

"No. I'll let you do it, if it has to be done at all."

"So, you're still Batman's boy through and through?"

"I consider that a compliment." Would Bruce? Dick didn't think so. Bruce probably had renounced him a long time ago, back when Dick finally started killing people. Dick grimaced. "But I still won't do it."

Bill leaned forward and tapped the wooden table, a knowing expression on his face. "Killing Slade would solve my problem. Killing Slade would solve your problem. Killing Slade would probably solve a lot of other peoples' problems. So why won't you do it? You told Bane that you would."

"He was going to kill me!" Dick snapped. "Of course I was going to say what he wanted to hear!"

That was what people like Slade and Bane and even this guy didn't understand: of course people in these kinds of situations were going to do whatever they said!

"Aren't you the one out for revenge, Bill?"

"Well, aren't you?"

Dick stood up. "If I kill him for revenge, then I'll be just as bad as he is."

"That's it? That's Slade's grand plan? To make a villain out of you?" Bill chuckled. "He's crazy. What does he have to gain from that? Especially with you?"

"I'm not here to explain Slade's actions," Dick said. "But Slade has a lot of issues. He just chose to take them out on me because he's a psychopath."

And what if Bill was a psychopath too?

"A psychopath. All right. He's definitely that. And, I assume, he's beaten you and molded you into the man you are today. And he's probably proud of it."

That was it: Dick didn't like him. "This is irrelevant. I'll help you take down Slade, I'll even help you kill Slade, but I won't pull the trigger."

"So you'll let him die through inaction. Do you realize how contradictory your words are? If you hate him so much, why haven't you killed him before? I'm sure you've had plenty of opportunities. You've killed so many people for him, so why can't you turn around and shoot him?"

"It's a lot more complicated than that." Why was Bill asking these questions? Just what was his relationship to Slade?

"In the end you're a coward," Bill said. "Slade can't even scare you enough to make you a cold-blooded murderer."

Dick grabbed the front of Bill's shirt and slammed him against the wall.

"Oh-ho," Bill gasped. "Think you're a tough guy, huh?"

"I've been trained by both Batman and Deathstroke," Dick growled. "I can kill you if I want."

"Is that supposed to impress me?" Bill shoved Dick away and punched him. "Because right now, I'm not impressed."

Dick punched him right back, a nice uppercut to Bill's chin that caught him off-guard. "I'm not looking to impress you."

All of the frustration that had been bubbling inside him flooded out of him in the form of punches and kicks. During his fit of rage Bill somehow ended up on the floor, blood dripping from his nose.

"Ah, there we go," Bill said. "See what you did there, kid? You knocked me down."

Dick backed down and wiped away the sweat from his eyes. What had gotten into him? He was usually in control of his emotions. Slade had taught him to control his temper, or had that been Dick learning how to control his emotions so Slade couldn't get to him? Dick didn't know.

"If you can do that to me, then you can take down Slade Wilson. I should know, because I trained alongside him."

"Is that why you brought me here?" Dick asked, his temper rising. "To convince me to kill Slade? What if I go through with the exchange, and I go free?"

"It's the only way out, kid," Bill said. "You have to kill him."

"Why do I have to kill Slade?"

"Because he won't expect it from you. From me…well…it may not come as a great shock." Bill grinned at Dick's puzzled expression. "Don't believe me? You know it's true. He probably thinks you're too honest to backstab him."

Who _was _this guy? An old friend of Slade's? He said he had worked with Slade once. Were they best friends gone astray? What?

"Honesty means kaput in our line of business," Dick replied. "Everyone backstabs everyone."

"Nah, I don't think so. You're lucky that Slade's developed such a soft spot for you, like you're one of his fucking kids, or else you'd be dead." Bill's face brightened. "Ah, I see why you won't kill him. You've gotten chummy with him. You've been working for him for so long that you guys can't help but refuse to kill each other."

"Shut up!"

"You're Slade Wilson's last weakness, Dick Grayson!"

"He doesn't fucking care about me!" Dick's voice cracked. "He thinks he does care, but he really doesn't. He thinks that he's doing me a favor, but he's not. I don't care if you think I'm weak for not killing him, because you don't fucking know me."

How could anyone call him weak after all he had been through? Anyone else would have cracked under the strain. It was a vicious cycle he couldn't escape from, not unless someone died. Whether that was the Titans, other former friends, or Slade, Dick didn't want that to happen. He didn't want this to end in bloodshed, even though he knew that it already had.

Bill smiled.

Dick ran a shaking hand through his hair. Few people could get him worked up like that. How did he let Bill get to him so quickly? How embarrassing.

"He's just using me," Dick said.

_And you're trying to do the same. _

Yes, Dick was horribly aware that Bill made him mad just so he could "see the light," so he would agree to kill Slade for him. Give Slade a little poetic justice: make the kid he had been training for five years turn around and kill him. It was like the Sith rule of two: eventually, only one of them could be the master.

"You have a lot of issues you need to work through yourself," Bill said pleasantly. He opened a drawer in his desk and took out a bottle. "Here, have a drink."

"I don't want a drink."

If Bill could get Dick worked up like this, then Dick didn't want to muddle his head with alcohol. It had been a long time since he had an outburst like that. He had no intention of allowing his emotions to flare up like that again.

"You're quite an interesting young man, Dick," Bill said, pouring himself a glass of brandy. "And your position within the mercenary world has put you into a unique position. You have the opportunity to kill Slade Wilson, though it baffles me that you haven't done so already."

"He controls me. And it's not a matter of brute force." Dick looked at Bill. "If I help you kill him, then you're going to promise me something."

"And what may that be?"

"My freedom is not the issue here. I want a guarantee that my friends will be out of the picture, that I will have control over his nanobots."

"And once he dies, then will you take his place?"

Dick paused. "Of course not."

"That is the only thing I ask of you in return," Bill said. "That you won't become the next Deathstroke."

"Well," Dick said, laughing uneasily. "You can be sure of that. I'm thinking of early retirement. That sounds nice."

Joking around helped him a lot, though Dick could tell that his jokes puzzled people, even other villains. They expected him to be some sad little boy who spent most of his time moping around, or maybe even the strong silent type. No, neither of those fit Dick's personality. Even with something as dark as murder hanging over his shoulders, he couldn't go through life without cracking a joke or two. It was one of the few ways he could cope.

"Do you see this gun, Dick?"

"Yes. There's no need to treat me like I'm five."

Bill's eyes burned dangerously. "Tomorrow morning I'll give you this gun. Slade won't know that you have it, as you aren't allowed weapons without his say-so. Once the exchange happens, you will shoot him. Just one shot. That's all you need, isn't it?"

"Unfortunately."

Bill put the gun back in its holster. "Tomorrow morning."

"Fine," Dick said, his gaze lingering on the gun for a few moments. "Don't worry, I wouldn't trust me with a gun either."

Bill's lips twitched into a smile. "Then we have a deal?"

Bill held out his hand. There was no reason Dick had to agree with this. He could follow through with the exchange, Slade would murder everyone, and things would go back to the way they were.

"Fine." They shook hands, thought Dick let go of Bill's hand quickly.

"I'm glad you're finally seeing reason," Bill said pleasantly.

_Because you won't take no for an answer, jerk, _Dick thought.

"Who are you, really?" Dick asked.

The man smiled, as though he had been waiting for Dick to ask. "Slade knows me as Jackal."

* * *

Jackal. Dick should have realized that he was dealing with the one person Slade hated with a true passion, the only person who would ever hold a true grudge against Slade. Jackal was the man responsible for messing up Slade's family life. Dick had found out about him quite by accident, and he wasn't stupid enough to ever bring up his name in front of Slade.

Dick laid on his side on a cot and faced the wall, unable to sleep. Jackal had given him a small room, which Dick had spent the rest of the day and now the night in. He spent most of his time arguing with himself in a desperate attempt to sort out his feelings. Hardly anyone came in, except to bring him food, and though no one said anything, Dick knew that he was very much a prisoner.

This was it. He was going to go through with it. He hated having so much time to think. He just wished that he could get it over with so he didn't have time for regrets. Once the deed was done, then the first hurdle was done. It was going to take a lot to repair the damage Slade had done to his life; he wasn't even sure that everything could be repaired.

He had to do it. He was the only one who could do it. Dick wouldn't leave a path of bodies behind, and the awful cycle of abuse would end. He didn't care if that made him the next Deathstroke, because had no intention of ever assuming the role. Hell, he wouldn't even become Batman, if Bruce was ever crazy enough to ask him.

The fact of the matter was that, someday, Slade did expect him to become Deathstroke. And once Slade was dead, then he could do nothing to make Dick continue doing his bidding. If Dick could kill so many others, then he could kill Slade. Every fiber of his being rebelled against the idea, but he saw no other way out of this. He couldn't be passive any longer.

_Jackal's using you to do his dirty work, just like Slade. _

Dick rolled over onto his back. Tomorrow morning Slade might expect Dick to turn the gun on Jackal and kill him for what he did to Slade's family. Dick couldn't follow both commands and he didn't have the desire to. He wished that everything Jackal said wasn't true, but as he allowed the words to tumble in his mind he knew that he had to kill Slade.

Dick would kill Slade and then flee the scene. Slade deserved it, especially after allowing that kid to die. Dick wouldn't waste any time mobilizing Slade's resources to get back to the States so he could deactivate the nanobots. Even though he hadn't talked about them in years, he knew that Slade still didn't trust him with the nanobot technology.

Premeditated murder. That was what he was doing. Not a contract killing, just cold-blooded murder for no other reason other than the fact that Dick wanted him dead. It was like the time with Tony Zucco, only this was different. This was revenge for five years Dick could not take back, five years separated from his friends and the people he had made his family. But perhaps Dick needed to stop thinking of this as revenge and start thinking of this as a solution.

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**A/N: Le gasp! Dick contemplates murder! **

** I'm excited about this fic's villains, especially because I have never used Jackal before. Bill is Jackal's first name (last name will be revealed later), as he appears in the old school Deathstroke comics. **

**Review! Next update will probably be in December! **


	6. Chapter 6: Revelations

**Disclaimer: I don't own anyone. **

**A/N: Not much to say except enjoy the chapter! I've been very busy with holiday stuff, and I must go back to work!**

* * *

**Chapter 6: Revelations **

Dick didn't get that much sleep that night. He didn't trust any of them, even though Jackal was treating him like a "guest." Though, Dick supposed that people like Jackal and Slade didn't realize how they actually acted like assholes whenever they decided to treat someone "nice." Even when there was no shouting, or fists flying, there was always a feeling of uneasiness in the air. It was something that Dick could not quite describe, but it was a feeling he knew well nevertheless.

Once six o'clock rolled around Jackal invited him over for breakfast.

"Coffee?" Jackal offered, holding up the pot.

Dick grumbled, but accepted the offer. He needed something to wake him up.

"Would you like anything? Cream or—"

"My coffee is black, just like my soul."

"You're a cheerful one, aren't you?"

Dick shot him a dirty look. "Once this is over I'll let you live."

"You'll let me live?" Jackal chuckled. "Young man, I'm hard to kill. And I don't think you're the type to kill me. You only want Slade dead, so you'll only kill him."

Despite the fact that Dick thought Jackal was crazy, just like every other person Slade knew, Jackal's quick analyses of Slade and Dick's relationship was frighteningly accurate. Dick sipped his coffee and studied Jackal, wondering just how much Jackal really knew.

"Why Bane?" Dick asked. "You could have chosen anyone else to work for you. I wouldn't trust Bane."

"For many reasons, though... you don't know what's happened in Gotham, do you?"

People kept referring to this mysterious event in Gotham. For the hundredth time Dick wished that he had access to the Internet, or that people would stop being mysterious for the sake of annoying him. Most of the time he learned about current events weeks after they happened, even when he bothered Slade about it. If it was something really important, like news about the Justice League or the Titans, then Slade made sure that Dick didn't learn about it for a long time.

"You'll know in due time," Jackal replied. "Besides, it doesn't concern us. At the moment."

"I don't appreciate being lied to."

"Why be mad at me? You're away from Slade."

"I'm always angry, Jackal," Dick said suddenly, spinning around to face him. "I don't think you'll ever understand how angry I am. So what if Slade screwed you over years ago? At least he hasn't been screwing you over for every second, every minute, every hour of your day for _five year_s. So don't."

"Ever thought of writing a book, kid? You seem to have a lot on your mind."

"Maybe if I get out of this alive, yeah."

Jackal smiled. "I can see why Slade took you in."

"Don't even joke like that."

"Say it however you will. It changes nothing."

"You have a smoke?" Dick asked distractedly, forcing himself to calm down.

Jackal took out a packet and drew out a cigarette for him. He lit it for Dick (probably didn't trust him with anything that could be a weapon, even a cigarette lighter) and gave it to him. Dick took it and ignored how his hands shook. As he smoked he knew that he would be coughing up a storm later, and that when the inevitable chaos happened later he could be wheezing while fighting, but he didn't care. The cigarette smoke curled out of his mouth, and a wave of sudden calmness swept over him.

"I was going to kill you, Dick, but you convinced me otherwise," Jackal said.

"Liar."

"I was just complimenting you, boy. Don't push your luck. Don't be so abrasive; I saved your life."

"Dude," Dick said, chewing the end of his cigarette. "I've been working for the king of deceptive kindness for five years. You ain't got nothing on him."

Coffee, cigarettes and good conversation—what a great way to start his day. He still didn't know what to think of Jackal, other than the fact that he seemed just as big of a douchebag as Slade. Granted, Slade was a douchebag unwilling to hurt children, so there were some key differences.

"So how did you get Bane to work for you?" Dick asked.

"I'm holding his venom supply hostage."

"Do you wanna die? Because that's a good way to go."

"It's a simple task: he's actually my bodyguard. If I, or you, fail to kill Slade, then I know that he can finish the job." Jackal smiled knowingly. "Besides, Bane has his reasons for helping me, even if he doesn't say it."

Considering the fact that Bane could give Batman a run for his money, Dick didn't doubt that. Everything about this was a recipe for disaster, though: Bane ultimately didn't follow any orders but his own. Jackal and Slade obviously had their own issues to work out, and Dick didn't want to be caught in the crossfire. Something was bound to go wrong, and surely everyone involved knew it. Jackal glanced at his phone.

"Come on, it's time to go." Jackal took out a gun, opened the magazine, and showed Dick that there was only one bullet inside. "Remember: one shot. That's all you got."

Dick reached for the gun, but Jackal held it back. "Just so you know, Dick: if you try to kill me there will be consequences."

"What kind of consequences?"

"The Titans may be in Slade's hands, but there are other people who can get hurt. Civilians. People in Gotham you know. If I die, then one of my men will hurt your…former friends."

Dick took the gun from him. He didn't need to hear any more of this crap. "Don't worry. I'll do it."

He placed the gun into the inside of his jacket, where his gun usually resided during a contract. Jackal smiled, his grin mirroring Slade's patronizing smile.

"Good man," Jackal replied. He gestured towards the door. "Shall we?"

* * *

_Relax. Take a deep breath. Rest your finger on the trigger and put your target in the crosshairs. That is all it takes. That was all it took. _

_ They got back from their latest contract to Jump City just before sunrise, though neither of them felt like sleeping even when they were clearly exhausted. Dick wondered just how long it would take for him to suffer a breakdown from their latest contract, where he had been yet again forced to murder someone. After every single one, thus far, he had thrown up or felt violently ill. Gotten a migraine. Felt so uneasy that he couldn't function. _

_ To his great surprise he didn't do any of the above. The two of them stood on the rooftop of the haunt to watch the sunrise. Wintergreen had brought them coffee some time ago, although Dick had let his coffee go cold. _

_To his credit, Slade hardly gloated over a completed contract. He seemed just as morose as Dick felt sometimes, but his coldness was unsettling. Dick knew that Slade was thinking something, analyzing the situation, analyzing the contract, analyzing Dick's reaction. Then he would say something that would completely turn the situation on its head. That was what made Slade so terrifyingly human: his ability to slip in and out of his terrifying persona. Slade could tell a good joke. There were times when he was not insufferable. But no matter what he was doing, no matter how he delivered the punch line, he was always observing. Always analyzing. Always waiting to find a chink in Dick's emotional armor. _

_ "Are you all right?" Slade asked. _

_ "You and I both know that I won't be okay," Dick said, "that I'll never be okay. Is this what you wanted, Slade?"_

_ Dick had been around Slade long enough to know that there was something more to all of this, that Slade didn't force him into an apprenticeship just for the hell of it. Dick flung out his arms, as though to show Slade what he had become. _

_ "You made me kill someone. Are you happy now?" _

_ What was Slade going to do this time? Slade merely leaned against the wall and looked at Dick blankly. "Killing people was never my primarily goal." _

_ "Are. You. Happy. Now?" _

_ Why wouldn't Slade ever give him a clear answer to his questions? His answers were always convoluted. _

_ "I didn't make you my apprentice just so you could kill people. That was never the point." Slade turned to look at him. _

_ "Then what was the point?" Dick's arms trembled at his side. "Isn't this what you've been working towards for so long? Answer my goddamn question." _

_ "Dick," Slade said slowly, "it's a lot more complicated than you think." _

_ "Oh god, don't go sappy on me." Dick turned back towards the sunrise. "I know why you're making me kill people: it's because you can't stand being alone. So instead of being alone you decided to make someone suffer with you." _

_ At what point did Slade think they were going to become friends? Being friends with someone wasn't just all about the fun times. It was also about calling your friend out on his shit. Dick turned and went back inside, though he paused, his hand resting on the frame of the door. _

_ "I feel sorry for you, Slade. I feel sorry that you felt the need to treat someone the way you treat me. But that doesn't change my feelings toward you." _

_ "Dick!" _

_ Dick turned around to look at Slade. _

_ "It's been rough, I know," Slade said. "Maybe I haven't been the greatest of teachers, but I was sincere when I said that I wanted a successor." _

_In that moment Dick wanted to murder Slade. The madness would only end with Slade's death. Dick would tie off loose ends and retreat into a life of silence. Oftentimes Dick wondered why Slade had chosen a Titan, someone who stood for justice. Someone who did not cross the line between criminal and hero. Now Dick believed he understood: a true villain wouldn't have saved those kids. A true villain wouldn't care, and perhaps a kid who considered himself a villain wouldn't have bothered to save kids. It wasn't corruption so much as necessity for Slade's business. _

_ Dick unclenched his hands and allowed the feeling to pass. No, he couldn't do it. Not even after all this time, he still wouldn't stoop to Slade's level. Not just yet. _

_ "Justify your actions however much you want. It won't change anything. You can't push me around like a kid. I won't believe your lies anymore." _

_ Dick slammed the door shut behind him._

* * *

They all met in Bruges, far away from the touristy area so that there would be no witnesses. Dick still hadn't decided what he wanted to do. He could, conceivably, kill both of them, but Jackal only gave him one bullet. Kill Slade with the bullet, and then kill Jackal with his bare hands. If that was even possible.

Dick saw Slade standing alone in the empty square from the distance. They were too far away for him to see Slade's expression. Dick leaned towards the window, trying to make out Slade's mood.

"Tie his hands," Jackal ordered.

"What?" Dick jerked his hands away when one of Jackal's men reached for him.

"It's all part of the act, kid," Jackal said.

Grudgingly, Dick allowed Jackal's man to tie his hands behind his back. The car, as well as the three others accompanying them, pulled up next to Slade.

Slade was, predictably, pissed. He arrived by himself, dressed in plainclothes, though Dick was certain that he was wearing his Deathstroke uniform underneath his jacket. "Jackal."

"Good morning, Slade. Were you expecting me?"

"I'm not surprised."

Uh-oh. Although Slade wasn't outwardly pissed, Dick could tell just from Slade's body language that he was ready to rip Jackal to shreds.

"Let him go," Slade growled.

"Or else what?"

"Or else I'll kill you."

"Or maybe—"Jackal suddenly pulled Dick towards him and pressed a knife against his neck. "I'll kill him."

Dick was half-tempted to demand why Jackal was threatening him, then he supposed that it wasn't worth it. These guys were crazy. There would be no diplomatic solution. Just aggressive negotiation.

"I like this kid, Slade," Jackal said. "He's a lot different from the last one. That kid just wouldn't stop crying and crying—"Jackal pressed the knife harder against Dick's neck as Slade's hands formed fists. "Ahhh, don't make the same mistake as last time. I'll finish the job this time around."

What _had _happened last time? All Dick really knew was that Jackal had threatened Slade's family. Someone may have died, probably one of Slade's kids.

"But I like him, so I'll let him off the hook today." Jackal cut off the ropes binding Dick's hands and pushed him towards Slade. "Go on, kid."

Dick felt as though Slade could see right through him. Slade knew that Dick could betray him, even if that same stoic expression graced his face. His legs felt unsteady as he walked towards Slade. He hated walking his back towards Jackal, but what other choice did he have? Slade started walking towards him and shot Dick a dirty look as they passed each other. Dick shoved his hands into his pockets to assuage his nervousness, although he knew that he should be reaching for his gun instead.

"We'll talk about your insubordination later," Slade said quietly. "Get back to Frannie's and we'll work things out from there."

Dick stopped walking, not caring that Slade's glare intensified. This would never be a true partnership, not with Slade yapping orders every other minute.

_This is it. I have to do it. _

Before Dick could convince himself to stop he pulled out the gun and aimed it at Slade's back. Slade paused. He turned around slowly, his expression mildly bemused.

"So, this is how you repay me for everything I've done for you." Slade held his arms out, inviting Dick to shoot him. "Go ahead. Do it."

Why was everyone watching him? He couldn't shoot Slade with everyone watching him. Murder wasn't a spectacle. If he was going to murder someone, then Jackal should have at least sold tickets.

"Oh, I see," Slade said, turning back towards Jackal. "You honestly thought you could make him turn on me. Well, you can't. Dick, drop the gun."

Dick didn't do it. His fingers were locked around the gun, paralyzed by his nervousness.

"Dick," Slade said again, his voice hard, _"drop the gun."_

It would be so simple to kill Slade right now. If Dick controlled his shaking for just a few seconds, then he could shoot Slade. One of Dick's many problems would go away.

"Seems like everyone turns on you eventually, Slade," Jackal said pleasantly.

For one moment Dick allowed emotion to cloud his face. Hiding his emotions had become second nature to him, but sometimes he slipped up. In that moment he knew that Slade had pinpointed Dick's current weakness; he knew what was wrong and how to fix it.

"Do you know what he did?" Slade asked, gesturing towards Bane. "Do you know why Bane's here?"

Everyone was watching for Dick's reaction. The only person who seemed uninterested was Bane, who actually seemed annoyed that no one was killing anyone.

"They got in a fight, and Bruce Wayne is as good as dead," Slade said. "His back is broken. He may not recover." Slade pointed at Bane. "That's why Bane is here: he's running from every JLA member after him, and he's after you, Dick."

Dick lifted the gun and aimed at Bane. What was he thinking? This wouldn't help anyone, and he certainly couldn't kill Bane with a single shot. When he spoke, his voice cracked with emotion.

"What?"

Bruce's back was broken…Bruce was no longer Batman…Bruce couldn't be Batman…

Why was everyone relying on him to kill someone? Why was everyone watching him? Every word seemed unreal. How could he believe them? Everyone here was a pathological liar. Why should he believe Bane or Slade when all they were trying to do was control him?

"This is idiotic," Bane snapped. "I'll kill him myself."

Everything erupted into chaos. Dick had no idea what was going on, except that several people were suddenly screaming instructions at him. Slade telling him to turn around and kill Jackal, while Jackal screamed at him to kill Slade. Bane lunged towards him and yelled some expletive in Spanish, his muscles thickening as the famed venom pumped through his veins.

Events moved in slow motion. Dick bent his knees to avoid Bane, and bent his back to avoid Bane's outstretched hands, a motion that would have hurt anyone but a proper gymnast. Bane slammed into the ground behind him so hard that he cracked the cobblestones. Dick flipped over and landed nimbly, still holding onto the gun.

"What the hell did you do to Bruce Wayne?" Dick demanded.

"That's right, muchacho: I destroyed Bruce Wayne," Bane said, breaking into a grin behind his mask. "And before I kill him I will kill you."

Why would Bane do that? Why would he spend all this time and trouble to kill Dick just to get back at Bruce Wayne?

_Then that means…that means that Bruce still cares about me. _

This sudden realization paralyzed Dick. There was still something to hope for, then, still something he could go back to if things ever went back to normal, or as back to normal as things could be. Bruce wasn't dead, but he was paralyzed, and Bane wouldn't come back to kill him until he had destroyed everyone Bruce cared about. If Bane knew who he was, then why did he bother asking for Dick's name? Why bother with any of this? Was it for show? Did Bane know, or did he change his mind about working for Jackal once he found out who Dick was?

Maybe this time he couldn't let Bruce save him, because Bruce physically couldn't anymore. Maybe this time Dick was the one who had to step up and protect Bruce. He couldn't do that masquerading as an assassin's apprentice.

Dick straightened and lifted the gun yet again. First he aimed at Bane, who was turning around to rush at Dick again. He wasn't stupid enough to believe that he could kill Bane with a single shot, but ordinary men could be killed. His stomach knotted uncomfortably, but he forced himself to ignore it. Bane rushed towards him. Dick heard his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Then, after a split second's decision, Dick aimed the gun at Slade and Jackal.

A thousand thoughts blazed through his mind. Slade and Jackal could accidentally murder each other, and Dick would be free. But someone was going to be a victor. Either way, if Slade killed Jackal then there would be hell to pay for allowing himself to be captured, though Jackal murdering Slade would open up a whole different world of troubles for him.

There was no time to think. This was not murder, but an act of self-preservation.

Dick fired the gun.

No one screamed. When he opened his eyes he saw blood everywhere. Everyone around him reloaded their guns and pointed them at him. Something warm had splattered all over his face and clothes. He dropped the empty weapon and collapsed to his knees, hardly believing his eyes.

Slade laid spread-eagled on the ground, his blood seeping into the cracks of the cobblestone street.

* * *

**A/N: NOW DON'T PANIC. I planned the story this way, and there is a reason why events are happening like this. I only ask that you keep reading. **

**Review! Hopefully I will be able to update next week with my extended work hours. **


	7. Chapter 7: A Murder, But Not a Crime

**Disclaimer: I don't own anyone.**

**A/N: Ah, I know I said updates on Tuesdays, but my work schedule shifted dramatically for the Christmas season, so the next update will probably be by Wednesday night. I almost wanted to delay this update, but I wanted to make sure you guys got an update this week. So enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

**Chapter 7: A Murder, But Not a Crime**

"He had it coming, he had it coming  
He only had himself to blame  
If you'd have been there, if you'd have seen it  
I betcha you would have done the same."

-"Cell Block Tango." Chicago

Everyone stared at him, as though they couldn't believe that Dick had killed Slade. Dick was barely aware that he was still in danger, and that he only had seconds to act before the others would attack him.

Bane would kill him to get back at Batman, whatever his reasons were. Jackal had almost been shot and was covered in Slade's blood. He lowered his fist, as though he couldn't quite believe that Dick had done it. After a moment, however, his expression became guarded once more.

Dick's breathing became labored. Why couldn't he breathe? What was wrong with him?

Despite his shock, Dick's training kicked in. If he wanted to live, then he better act quickly. He reached out and picked up the gun he had dropped, the murder weapon.

"Don't move, boy," Jackal said. He had his gun trained on Dick, his pleasant manner gone in an instant. "Drop that gun."

Ever so slowly, Dick straightened, glaring at each villain in turn. Bane seemed surprised that Dick had killed Slade, even if it was on accident (had it been an accident?) but he looked ready to murder Dick again.

"You don't need to kill me, Bane," Dick said. He placed the empty gun against his head. Jackal raised an eyebrow. "I'm just as good as dead."

At first Dick wasn't sure if this would work. Bane probably didn't know that there had only been one bullet in that gun. And what would have happened if there was another bullet in that gun? He only wanted Bane to stop glaring at him like that. If Dick killed himself, then Bane wouldn't have the chance to kill him in front of Bruce. It was a stupid ploy, but considering the situation, would Dick have actually pulled the trigger?

"I don't think that'll solve your problem, boy," Jackal said.

"And what will?" Dick laughed uneasily. God, this whole situation seemed unreal. "Why do you care, Jackal?"

"I had a bounty on Slade's head," Jackal said. "I could pay you for it."

Dick lowered the gun. "Why the hell would I want to work for you?"

Bane considered both of them. Dick thought for sure that this stupid plan wouldn't work: Bane wouldn't actually believe that Dick wanted to kill himself. As though Bane just realized this, he started moving forward.

"Stop, Bane." Jackal turned his gun on Bane. "If you kill the boy or me then your demise is guaranteed. You'll never get any of your venom."

Of course, Bane was technically addicted to the venom that made him so powerful. Something was wrong about all this. Why would Jackal be helping him? Why would he threaten Bane?

"No—" Bane began.

"I'm the one in charge here!" Jackal snapped. "You will do as I say, or I will make it extra difficult for you to get your venom. And you," Jackal turned back towards Dick, "you get the hell out of here. Isn't there something important you have to do?"

The Titans. Dick had to go back to California and get the nanobots from Wintergreen. He had to shut down all of his raging emotions before he could feel sorry for himself.

Dick dropped the gun, his hands still shaking. His chest felt constricted as feelings he could not quite describe tumbled inside him. Relief, fear, guilt…grief.

Grief. How silly of him to feel grief. There was no reason to feel sorry that Slade was dead, because Slade got what he deserved. If Dick hadn't murdered him, then someone else would have.

_No, _Dick thought. _Slade didn't deserve to die. Why did someone have to die? Why can't things ever be normal? _

Bane looked irritated, and for a moment Dick believed that Bane would ignore Jackal's orders. Then something came over him, something that Dick, in his tormented state of mind, could not describe.

"I'll be watching you, muchacho," Bane said.

To Dick's amazement Bane stepped down. What was going on? What did this mean? Wasn't Dick somehow part of Bane's revenge against Bruce Wayne? Why would Bane change his mind now? Dick didn't know, and he certainly wasn't in the right state of mind to find out.

Dick felt like vomiting. It took every ounce of his self-control not to break down and scream. No one was going to help him except himself.

"Let's move," Jackal said.

Everyone, to Dick's amazement and great suspicion, dispersed. Jackal caught Dick's arm tightly and yanked him forward.

"I almost thought you were going to shoot me, kid," Jackal said. "Glad you didn't. That was some move you pulled with Bane back there."

Dick looked at Jackal's grip on his arm and then up at him. When he spoke, it was in a cold, terse voice that did nothing to betray the utter chaos he actually felt.

"You're not the one I have a problem with," Dick replied.

"Do you feel relieved?" Jackal let go of his arm. "It's over. Both of us don't have to worry about Slade ever again."

Dick shot Jackal a dirty look. "I don't ever want to see you again. If I ever see you again I will kill you too."

Jackal rolled his eyes. "I know you won't kill yourself, and I know you won't kill me. Not with what you have at stake."

"Slade thought the same. He thought he was safe from me, but he was wrong."

Oh. That seemed to get Jackal thinking. Making threats when he was this tired might not be Dick's strength, but this time he meant it. When he spoke every syllable of his words were laced with anger, the kind of anger that could be controlled with malice.

"Well, then," Jackal said slowly. "Good luck, Dick."

"Why do you care?" Dick asked quietly.

"Because you'll always be a threat." Jackal smiled. "But anyone who hated Slade is a friend of mine, and I'd rather we be friends. Don't you?"

Dick didn't answer him. Instead he turned around and forced himself not to look at Slade's body again. Jackal was planning something, but what? Dick didn't want to stick around and find out. Right now he had other problems to deal with, and before he could deal with Jackal or Bane he had to go back home. That was where he was needed now.

At long last, Dick fled the scene.

* * *

Dick fled to Frannie's apartment, though no one was home when he burst in through the door. Maybe Frannie had already left home for Germany. If she had, then that was one last thing to worry about.

Dick didn't have time to grab Slade's cell phone off him, though he clearly hadn't been thinking ahead when he fired the gun. He needed to get out of the country; that was his first order of business. Dupont's men were undoubtedly still looking for Deathstroke and his apprentice, and now Bane was on a murderous rampage for Dick Grayson. Bruges wasn't safe.

_You killed him. _

His suitcase was already packed. Just like Slade to make sure everything was ready to go for their flight from justice.

He went to the bathroom and scrubbed the blood away from his face. Dick changed clothes quickly, intending to burn the bloodied ones later. His stomach rumbled unpleasantly, but he drank water and forced himself not to vomit. Throwing up would only make him feel worse.

It took him a grand total of ten minutes to gather his few possessions and change into something more suitable for traveling. He went back out to the living room.

_You KILLED HIM. _

Dick collapsed to his knees again, grabbed his hair and screamed. He curled up on the floor in the fetal position and kept screaming until his throat went hoarse. Dick hadn't even been aware that he could scream like this until the sound escaped from him in an uncontrollable rage. His head pounded painfully. His whole head felt like it was locked in a vice, as though someone or something was pinching his skull.

"Dick?"

Who was that? Frannie. It was Frannie. Who else would be here? Who else would just waltz in here and not shoot him?

"What happened, Dick?"

He started sobbing uncontrollably. Every time he killed someone he felt like crying, felt like apologizing, and even now he regretted Slade's death. Slade was just like any other person. Even though he had been horrible, he had still been a person with hopes and dreams and feelings. Dick had known Slade for five years, and with each consecutive year he had gotten to know Slade, for better or for worse.

Dick had grown used to Slade's idiosyncrasies. He had molded his life around Slade's mood just to survive, and now Slade was gone. Suddenly having agency in his own life felt startling, and Dick wasn't sure if he was ready for it yet.

Frannie shook his shoulders. "What happened?!"

Dick looked at her, as though he didn't quite believe that she was there. A wave of sudden vindictiveness washed over him. For once someone else felt panicked, someone else was in the dark and someone else would hear bad news.

"Slade is dead."

"What?"

Dick swallowed. He was aware that he was lying, but he didn't care. Frannie didn't have to know what really happened.

"Slade's dead," he said again, more firmly this time. "Jackal killed him."

"Sweet Lord," Frannie said. "It finally happened."

What happened now? Did Frannie really believe him? He couldn't believe that she believed him. In that moment he felt weak. He was aware that he was weak, crying like this in front of Frannie, crying like this when he was a grown man.

He placed a hand on his forehead, silent tears falling down his face. God, why was he crying? Did he honestly feel sorry for Slade's death, or was he sad that he had taken a life?

Frannie, on the other hand, had collapsed in a nearby chair. She was taking this much better than Dick was, though perhaps she was used to her friends dying. Her eyes merely stared off into space, and for a few minutes the two of them shared a quiet moment.

"Dick," Frannie said cautiously, "are you all right?"

It seemed like that was all everyone was asking these days. Why were people always asking him if he was all right? Dick would never be all right, at least not when he was around Slade. Even when Slade was not insufferable, he was still not the greatest human being. Dick wondered if he had understood Slade the most, besides Slade's former wife. Wintergreen was Slade's friend, but had he ever been on the receiving end of Slade's anger?

_Come on, Grayson, pull yourself together. _

Dick wiped the tears away from his face. "Don't take care of me, Frannie. I don't need anyone to take care of me."

Frannie was nice, but she was nice like Wintergreen had been nice. Ultimately she had worked with Slade and therefore could not be trusted.

"Dick—"

"He's dead," Dick said, wiping away the last of his tears. "Slade may not have been my friend, but he was a person. I never wanted to kill him or anyone else."

_Murderer. _

"Are you going to get up?" Frannie asked.

Dick didn't move. He didn't want to move. How could he move? His mind was still processing everything that had happened to him in the past forty-eight hours, and he had absolutely no idea how to deal with his emotions. There was no one he could turn to for help, no one to turn to for guidance, no one he could trust.

Dick didn't know what to do. One part of him was glad Slade was dead because most of his problems were gone. He didn't have to worry about Slade bullying him ever again. On the other hand, he had to worry about the fallout. He had to worry about what Jackal was going to do, what Bane was going to do.

He had to get up. He had to keep on living, even when he didn't want to. Otherwise Slade would have won, even in death.

"I suppose you have no reason to care about him now," Frannie said quietly. "I'll be going now to take care of the body, which I assume you haven't taken care of in your state of mind. If you leave while I'm gone, then so be it. I understand."

Cold as those words were, they were the kindest ones he had heard in a long time. Frannie was Slade's friends. It was fitting that she should be the one to take care of the body. There was no reason she had to continue keeping Dick a prisoner.

"Thank you," Dick managed to croak.

Frannie left him there lying on the floor, but Dick didn't care. He didn't care about anything. He felt like vomiting, but instead he just stayed there, his cheek pressed against the cool tiles. He felt like he didn't deserve happiness, like he didn't deserve to have some comfort in life because he willfully killed another human being.

_Murderer. _

All these years he wanted Slade dead, but he never dared voice these opinions out loud. He had never wanted to kill Slade, but he had wanted the madness to end. But he didn't want Slade's death on his conscience. Perhaps after everything he had been through, after all those people he had killed on Slade's orders, it didn't matter that he had killed one more person, but to Dick it did. So long as he didn't kill outside of Slade's orders, then there was still some hope left for him. At least that was what Dick had hoped.

There would be time to work out his feelings later. There was no time to sleep, no time to think beyond what was necessary to stay alive. Frannie would take care of things. She was the only one who would take care of things now in Bruges.

Dick pushed himself to his elbows and looked around the empty apartment. Frannie had told him that he could leave whenever he wanted to and that she wouldn't stop him. What could she do? She wasn't bound to Slade's word like Dick was. By the time he arrived back in Jump City Wintergreen would surely know what had happened, if he didn't know what had happened already.

Dick stood up and wiped away his tears with the back of his sleeve. There was nothing left for him now. Why should he stick around? No one was here to tell him otherwise. Enemies—Slade's enemies—could knock down the door any minute now. It wasn't safe here. Part of him wished he warned Frannie before she left, but she wasn't stupid. She knew Slade's business, and she must know that there were people after Dick now.

He looked out of the sliding glass door, staring at Bruges' skyline briefly before picking up his dufflebag to leave the apartment for good.

Freaking Bruges.

* * *

"Passport, please," the ticket agent said.

Dick handed his passport to her nervously. He knew that it would work, although with Slade dead who knew how long his passport would work? The woman flipped it open, glanced at the name, and then glanced at him again.

"Step in front of the camera please, Mr. Wilson," the woman said, gesturing towards the line where he was supposed to stand. "Look at the camera, please."

He nearly blinked as the camera flashed at him.

"Thank you," the woman said. "Next, please."

No one gave him a second glance as he went on his way through security, though his heart hammered anxiously every time he passed a security guard or TSA agent. No one ever got through security this easily, and certainly not him. What if there was some kind of tracking device on that falsified passport, and there were people waiting for him back in the States? What if every time that passport was swiped one of the many bribed airport agents was notified of his presence and made sure he got through safely? Well, maybe he didn't want to know. He forced his thoughts toward the task at hand, which was finding his gate in this unfamiliar airport.

After leaving Frannie's apartment Dick had found a train that took him straight to the airport. He only carried a dufflebag with him full of two days' worth of clothes, but more importantly, evidence that would prove that he was innocent: Slade's laptop, a portfolio of notes and blueprints. That was all he could salvage. There would be more evidence at the Haunt if Wintergreen didn't destroy it first.

Not that Dick cared about his innocence at this point in time. Once his friends' lives were out of danger, then Dick didn't care what happened to him. If he ended up in jail, then he ended up in jail. At least then Slade would no longer be tormenting him.

It had been a sad and lonely five years. Right now he knew that the best thing to do was go to Jump City to fix things. And afterwards…well…he didn't know what was going to happen.

Once he found his gate Dick settled into a chair away from everyone else. All these people around him, and none of them knew who he was. He had a late-night flight, so the terminal wasn't full of people. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, but he didn't feel like eating. A meal would be served on the flight; he could wait until then.

He looked like a real mess. His dark hair was unkempt. Dark bags hung underneath his eyes. People were probably glancing at him, judging him, silently accusing him. Why wouldn't they? He was a criminal, and no matter how much he didn't want to be he was a murderer. There was no escaping it.

_I killed him. _

Dick leaned forward and placed his head in his hands. He couldn't cry again. Not now, not in front of all these people. It was fine to cry in private, but in public it was just another form of weakness.

"Flight to Atlanta International now boarding," the airport agent announced. "First class now boarding."

Well, that was him. He stood up and joined the line of people, feeling very out-of-place among the businessmen with his jeans and sweatshirt and worn dufflebag. He had a two hour layover in Atlanta before going home to Jump City. Home. What a weird concept.

He boarded the plane and smiled faintly as the ticket agent once again affirmed his false name. There was nothing he could do about his passport until he got back in the United States, unless he wanted to risk deportation.

To be perfectly honest, Dick wished that he had gotten a coach ticket instead of first class, but the way Slade's accounts had worked had gotten him a first-class ticket. Best not to make a scene if he could. He could have called Slade's personal pilot, but he wanted to keep Slade's death a secret. Besides, he didn't like the pilot much and preferred not to deal any of Slade's friends.

Once he boarded the plane he saw an older woman struggling to place her bag in an overhead compartment.

"Here, let me help you with that," Dick said, taking the lady's bag and putting it up in storage.

"Thank you, young man."

He smiled weakly. It was awful knowing what he had done, the horrible crimes Slade had made him commit, compared to how he wanted to help people. "No problem, Ma'am."

He settled down in his seat, already wanting to fall asleep before takeoff. He didn't care that the first-class seat was not as comfortable as a bed, or that people were still boarding the plane. Dick hadn't slept in over forty-eight hours, and he was dead tired. It was as if he hadn't slept much over the past five years and finally had the time to make up for it.

There were crying babies in the back, but he didn't mind. He rather liked the sound. While he felt anxious around people all these strangers, they helped anchor him to reality. The noise made him feel like, for once, he was in a completely normal situation with completely normal people.

He had over a ten hour flight. When they came over here he had boarded a private plane with Slade, so they wouldn't deal with people. The woman on his right didn't pay attention to him as she opened her novel. Dick leaned his head against the window and ignored the flight attendant's mandatory safety procedure.

For the first time in forty-eight hours he fell into a deep sleep, his head resting against the airplane window.

* * *

**A/N: I can't wait until the next chapter. Until next week, guys! And please review if you haven't yet! I don't write for reviews, but feedback is helpful and I'd like to produce the best possible story that I can. **


	8. Chapter 8: Inheritance

**Disclaimer: I don't own anyone. **

**A/N: I was advised to let you guys know that, even with Slade out of the picture, you will still see a lot of Slade and Robin interaction because of the nature of the fic. There are five years to draw from. Anyway, on with the story! **

* * *

**Chapter 8: Inheritance **

What little rest Dick gained from his long airplane flights he lost instantly when he arrived in Jump City. Usually there would be a car waiting for him, but this time no one was waiting for him. However, he knew Jump City so well that it didn't matter. He could walk home. After sitting on a plane for almost twenty hours he wanted to walk around.

He had absolutely no idea what the date was, and he didn't care. The time difference disoriented him. But what difference did it make in the end?

From what he could tell it was just after sunrise. People were already on their early morning commute, and no one paid attention to him. Dick made his way down the familiar road to Slade's Haunt, which was located in a sketchy part of town he had learned to call his home. He even knew most of the homeless people who lived near Slade's place. Sometimes he talked to them, desperate to talk to someone else besides Slade and Wintergreen. When he had cash on him Dick sometimes gave them some, or bought them food on his way home. Over the years most of them had grown to like him. They greeted him as he passed by.

"What's up, kid?" Bernie, one of the homeless guys, asked. "Where's that guy you hang around with?"

Dick looked at him distractedly. Of course, most of the time Slade walked him home when Dick walked around in civvies. "He's not coming back. I'm getting ready to leave this place. I don't think I'll be around anymore."

"Good. You've never looked happy here."

Once upon a time Dick had taken the time to talk to Bernie, and made him tell his story. Dick had refused to tell his own, though he was certain that Bernie and his friends knew that something was wrong. This confirmed it.

"Here," Dick said, handing him a wad of money. "I don't need it. Goodbye, Bernie."

Before the guy could say anything Dick continued on his way. Dick looked up at the Haunt as he approached the building. He had considered this his home for five years, even if he didn't want to admit it. Even now he considered it home. Dick gritted his teeth, took out his keycard and went inside.

Wintergreen hadn't changed the locks. That was a good sign; at least Dick hoped that it was. Dick stepped inside and dropped his duffle bag on the floor. A faint cloud of dust rose into the air. Wintergreen hadn't been cleaning? That was weird.

"Wintergreen?" he called out. "Will?"

It felt weird calling him Will. For most of his time here, Dick treated Wintergreen as if he were Slade, or at least that was how Slade instructed him to treat Wintergreen. In reality Wintergreen was the only person Dick could trust to a certain degree, and sometimes Dick called him by his first name when Slade wasn't around.

No one answered him. Some of the security cameras came to life as Dick walked past them, though of course they did nothing except watch. Walking through the empty, silent hallways was eerie. The gears weren't even moving. Did they automatically shut down after Slade died? Were they even on such a sophisticated system?

The weapons room came up on his right. A thought occurred. He pushed the door open, surprised that it wasn't locked, and went inside. This was where Slade kept most of his guns and ammunition, as well as the things inside Dick's utility belt when he wasn't on a mission.

One of the wall sections spun around as he approached, displaying a wide array of guns for him to choose from. Hmmm. Dick took the smallest one and put it inside his coat. Just because Jackal let him go didn't mean that anything was over between them. Dick had a gut feeling that someone would be paying him a visit soon enough, and when they did he would try to be ready.

"Wintergreen!" Dick called out again.

What if Wintergreen was out on an errand? Dick hadn't told anyone that he would be back in Jump City at this time. He could be out shopping for groceries or whatever. Dick left the room and headed for the main room.

When he arrived he found Wintergreen sitting in the main room, where the four projections of the Titans' bloodstream usually resided. Today the large screens were all blank. They hadn't shown the Titans' bloodstreams for about four years now. Recently they had been showing security camera footage of their targets, blueprint projections, more useful things.

Wintergreen sat in a chair, and though Dick wasn't near him he could tell that Wintergreen had been drinking. While Dick had never seen Wintergreen outside of his butler-esque element, and he certainly hadn't seen Wintergreen tipsy. Unlike Bruce or Alfred, Slade and Wintergreen preferred to hide their weaknesses. Dick had never seen Slade drunk, even though he knew that Slade often went out to drink himself silly. Dick had never seen Wintergreen outside of the Haunt, aside from the few times he had been allowed to assist Wintergreen with the grocery shopping. But now things were different.

Wintergreen got out of his chair as Dick approached. Being in the Haunt was weird without Slade there in general. True, Dick had been left alone in this awful place many times, completely alone and with Wintergreen, but now that Slade was dead everything just seemed so much stranger. Dick could not find the words to properly explain himself.

"Dick, I know why you're here—" Wintergreen began.

Dick lifted the gun from his holster and pointed it at Wintergreen. "Give me the trigger."

Wintergreen didn't move.

_"Give me the trigger!" _Dick shouted. His voice echoed in the large room.

"Don't shout, Richard," Wintergreen said in his calming voice.

"Don't shout?" Dick echoed. "You and I both know that I have reason enough the feel the way I do now. I will shout all I fucking want."

"You and I both know that shouting will do nothing."

_"You helped him keep me a prisoner!" _Dick shouted. "You could have helped me escape, but you didn't! You could have given me the trigger so I could escape, but you didn't! If you really felt sorry for me, then you should have acted like it! I don't care how nice you consider yourself to be! You're not my friend, Wintergreen. You never were, and you never will be."

Shouting wouldn't solve any problems, but boy did it feel good to finally scream.

"I don't consider you my friend either, Dick," Wintergreen said. "But God above, I consider you a human being. And I felt sorry for you. Don't worry. I'll give you the controller. I have no reason to kill the Titans."

Dick paused. Wintergreen was like Alfred in the sense that he preferred to call Dick by his real name. Dick didn't know why he respected Wintergreen for it, at least at first. A few years after the apprenticeship began Dick supposed that he appreciated it because Slade had no regard for Dick's preferences. Dick was a nickname that only people close to him called him. Dick didn't mind being called Richard, but when Slade said it the name sounded clunky. Wrong. Too familiar for Dick's liking.

Though he respected Wintergreen, he suddenly hated the guy's guts. Before Dick could stop himself he punched Wintergreen in the face. He ignored the pain in his knuckles and the blood on his hand.

"You helped him," Dick said. "I don't know if I can forgive you for that."

"I don't need forgiveness," Wintergreen replied. "I understand. Maybe I don't deserve it."

Wintergreen spoke in a trembling voice, his words slurring slightly. The longer Dick looked at him the more he realized how disheveled Wintergreen looked. How pathetic. In the end everyone was pathetic.

"You killed him, didn't you?" Wintergreen asked. "You lied to Frannie."

"Are you going to kill me for it?"

Old Wintergreen may be, but Dick knew that Wintergreen was ex-military. If Wintergreen wanted to shoot him, then Dick knew that he could. But Wintergreen wasn't like Slade. He wasn't vindictive, and while he could be angry he knew that he had very little reason to be angry at Dick, considering everything that had happened.

"Slade wouldn't have wanted me to."

Both of them had been caught up in this awful thing for five years. Yet Wintergreen could have left if he had wanted to. Dick never had a choice in the matter. It seemed as though Wintergreen was taking all this into consideration.

Wintergreen stood up and wiped blood away with the back of his hand. "I'm getting too old for this."

Dick tossed the gun aside. "He let a little girl die, Wintergreen. I couldn't let him get away with hurting kids anymore." A lump formed in his throat. "Not me or anyone else. No more."

Tears threatened to overtake him again, but he forced himself not to cry. At least Wintergreen didn't mock him for his tears, or for any weaknesses Dick had shown over the years.

"There's something you need to see," Wintergreen said.

"What?" Dick eyed him suspiciously. "Is it a trap?"

"No, Dick, this isn't a trap. I would never do that to you. You know that."

There was a lot that Dick didn't know about Wintergreen, but he supposed that he did know that much about Wintergreen.

"Before you leave the Haunt, you need to see something. It's not a trap. There are no tricks. At least none that I know of." Wintergreen reached out, as though to set a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but then he stopped himself halfway through. "Afterwards I'll give you the controller. I know you have no reason to trust me. But I think you'll want to see this."

Wintergreen pressed his hand against a section of the wall. A thumbprint scan emerged and flashed green as it confirmed Wintergreen's identity. A section of the wall slid open.

This was the robot room. Part of Slade's office that was dedicated to designing and building the Sladebots that Dick hated so much. There were a couple of desks in one corner of the room where he usually worked with the holographic robot blueprints. Fixing them, designing them, improving them…all of that was done here.

An army of Sladebots stood before him. Dick tensed, expecting them to run straight at him, but they didn't move. Indeed, as Dick stepped into the room, the Sladebots straightened. Dick paused, his hands held casually behind his back. Why not test a theory?

"You there," Dick said, pointing at a Sladebot. "Come here."

The Sladebot moved. It stood just three feet away from him.

Dick punched its face in. The robot did not move, and none of the others moved to attack him. How strange. He was so used to them attacking him, or at least moving to restrain him, that it was unnerving to see them like this. Blood dripped from his knuckles and his hand pounded faintly with pain.

"Slade left a message for you here," Wintergreen said. "I suggest that you watch it, even if you don't want to."

Wintergreen pushed a button, which turned on a large television screen. Slade—without his mask—appeared on screen. There was something about the way Slade appeared that made Dick pause. Perhaps it was the expression of incredible weariness on Slade's face, or how he didn't appear angry.

"If you are receiving this message, Dick, then I am dead. I don't know if you're eighteen, twenty-five or forty. Truth is, I don't know when I'll be dead, or how you feel about me now in comparison to how you felt about me when you were fifteen. But this message is supposed to be for you, as I have finally gotten my last will and testament together.

"I leave everything at the Haunt to you, save for the few things I have already set aside for Will. The Sladebots are programmed to follow your commands after they have received confirmation of my death. All of the locks will now respond to your fingerprints. And I suppose that you will want this." Another section of the wall slid out. The trigger—the stupid, stupid trigger—lay inside the drawer, covered in dust, as though no one had touched it in years. "Do with it what you like. There is no dead man's switch."

Slade was giving him the trigger? Just like that?

"I know what you're probably thinking right now. You probably don't believe me capable of such compassion. I can destroy your friends, but then what? You would never continue my legacy, not unless I made certain that you would continue working long after I'm gone. But a promise is a promise, even if I don't like it.

"If you are seeing this, Dick, then you are the new Deathstroke. All of my contact information will be forwarded to you. You may continue as Deathstroke or Ravager. I'm sure everyone will know who you are by now, and will have given you the respect you deserve. I hope by this time you have gotten to know me as a person, and that you now respect what I do for a living. I know that's a lot to ask of you, especially after everything we've already been through, and considering the troubles that undoubtedly lie ahead. If I am dead, by either someone else's hand, or perhaps even your own, then I hope that my death will serve some greater purpose. Do not expect an apology for what I've done to you. There is none, and I don't think I will ever apologize.

"Take that as you will. I only ask that you do one thing for me. Not as or for Deathstroke, but as Dick Grayson for Slade Wilson. You know that I have children, or had children, and that I am mostly likely survived by my son and former wife. My son's name is Joseph, and my former wife is Adeline Kane. Despite legal issues, I was able to leave them some inheritance. In my desk there will an envelope with further instructions.

"That's all I have to say, Dick. I hope by this time you have gained enough skills to keep my criminal empire running, and that in time you will take on another apprentice to fill your place. Goodbye, Dick."

The screen went blank.

Dick found himself wandering around the Haunt in a daze. Everything felt numb. He was exhausted, hungry, stressed out beyond belief. He didn't feel like eating or sleeping until he processed everything that had happened to him.

Crying wouldn't do him any good. He had already broken down and screamed until he couldn't anymore back in Frannie's apartment. In fact, he felt that his numbing shock following Slade's last will and testament prevented him from crying at all.

He stopped in front of Slade's office door. This wasn't his workroom, but his study. Dick never came in here, even when the door was unlocked, because Slade didn't want him knowing about his plans. Dick stepped into the room.

There was something on Slade's desk. Dick turned on a nearby lamp.

Keys that Dick had never seen before lay on the desk. The few vehicles that Slade used were always in the garage, and Dick had no idea where Slade kept the keys. Dick never got to drive anything, except those rare occasions he had to for a mission.

They were motorcycle keys. Slade didn't drive a motorcycle. He didn't even own one. There was a slip of paper next to the keys. Dick unfolded the paper and found Slade's handwriting scribbled on it.

_To replace the R-Cycle. You're twenty-one, you deserve your own set of wheels. _

"You son of a bitch."

He clutched the keys so tightly that the sharp edges bit into his hand. Just what kind of a villain was this man?

_All my knowledge, all my power, all for you. _

Slade meant it. God above, no matter how awful, how incredibly _evil _he had been, he meant it when he said that he was looking for a successor. Someone to follow in his footsteps, someone to leave everything to.

Just as Slade said in his video will, there was a Manila envelope waiting for him in the top desk drawer. Several official-looking documents slid out as he dumped the contents onto the desk.

"Thank you for listening to his last will and testament," Wintergreen said as he entered the room. "I know you didn't want to hear it."

"He's done worse."

When did Slade draw up that will? Dick couldn't tell how long it had been since Slade made it. When Dick was eighteen, maybe? Obviously enough time had passed that Slade felt he had won. Enough time had passed to make Slade believe that he cared for Dick like a son.

"I don't suppose you're part of my inheritance," Dick said sarcastically.

"No," Wintergreen replied quietly. "I'm not. I'll be leaving now." Wintergreen held out his hand. "I don't suppose you want me to stay?"

Would Wintergreen stay with him? Get him through this bizarre phase of his life? Wintergreen was the only person who would really understand him. Even if Dick went back to Gotham to talk to Alfred, Alfred wouldn't understand him. Dick was an adult now, and was not the kid that Alfred had known.

"No," Dick said in a choked voice. "You can't help me now. I can only help myself."

Would he be able to help himself?

"Then I guess this is where we say goodbye. Can we at least part on good terms?" Wintergreen kept his hand out.

Dick's vision blurred with sudden tears. He felt sorry for punching Wintergreen in the face. Even though Wintergreen had helped Slade he was also one of the few reasons Dick hadn't gone crazy. In his own, silent, thoughtful way, Wintergreen had been kind. He had watched Dick grow from a teenager to a young adult. When you spent five years with someone, even in a situation as difficult and unique as this, it was hard not to learn how to care for them.

Dick shook Wintergreen's hand. "Goodbye, Will."

Wintergreen left him alone.

Dick set the envelope back on Slade's desk and went back to the main room. Dick's hand hovered over the control panel in the main room. He knew where the self-destruct button was. All he had to do was press it and blow this hellhole to bits, and he would never have to return here again. But he knew that he couldn't. Not when there was so much evidence here.

He clutched the trigger tightly in his hand. After five years of being held captive by a single controller, this was how it all ended. Not with a bang, or a whimper, but a quiet death. An accidental death. No, an accidental murder.

"You had to say it, didn't you?" Dick shouted at the blank television screens. "Your will, I mean. You had to have the last word. You always do."

Would he give the papers and the money to Slade's family? After everything Slade had done for him? But why couldn't Slade just say it out loud? That he was just a bitter lonely asshole who kidnapped him because he was too big of an asshole to make real friends. True friends who didn't enable each other to kill people.

"This isn't how I wanted it to end," Dick whimpered, running a nervous hand through his hair. "Why does it have to end like this…why…why…?"

He couldn't destroy the Haunt. Not after he had learned to call it home. Even though this place harbored so many bad memories, he had no other place to go. He couldn't go back to Gotham. Not like this. Not right now.

Dick slumped into the chair that Slade always occupied and leaned against the armrest, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. Now that he sat there, in Slade's empty chair overlooking the Haunt, he finally understood just how lonely Slade must have felt. All this power, all this technology, all this knowledge, all this wide open space, but no one besides Wintergreen to share it with. And Wintergreen had just been a friend, someone who didn't want to inherit a criminal empire.

Wow. What a sad, lonely existence. How disgusting.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Heh, I just finished watching Neon Genesis Evangelion for the first time, so I did slip in a reference because that anime is giving me an existential crisis. **

**As for updates, I am going on vacation tomorrow, so I don't know when the next update will be. Probably in January. I hope you all have a fantastic holiday! Review as a Christmas present for me! **


	9. Chapter 9: This Too Shall Pass

**Disclaimer: I don't own anyone. **

**A/N: Hi everyone! I hope you had a great Christmas or holiday, and that you got lots of cool things! This will be the last update before the New Year. **

**One of the sections in this chapter was a bit experimental, so feedback would be appreciated!**

* * *

**Chapter 9: This Too Shall Pass**

Dick ate and drank nothing. Instead he sat at Slade's computer and smoked a pack of cigarettes. With every passing cigarette he knew that he would regret it later, but he had to keep himself awake. Why would he want to sleep in this place again? Why spend more time here than he needed to?

There were so many things he had to do now that Slade was dead, and he knew that he wouldn't get it all done in one day. First he opened the program Slade used as a single inbox for all of his email addresses and checked Slade's emails. Were there people whose contracts hadn't been fulfilled? Dick read through the emails carefully, and once he found one that would be unfulfilled he immediately accessed Slade's online bank account. Or, rather, one of the several he had used. Then he wired the money back to the client with an apology email. Then he sent out a mass email informing all clients that he would no longer be providing any mercenary services, and that any quarrels they had with Slade were now moot.

Most of what Dick did in the next few hours was incredibly boring, mundane work, but work that had to be done nevertheless. Shutting down the Haunt would take several days, as he had to destroy the Sladebots and all other blueprints, so that no one could use Slade's technology.

The ashtray next to him filled with ash as the hours passed. He wasn't aware of how much time had passed; Dick was only concerned with shutting down Slade's empire. This was worse than any other all-nighter that Dick had pulled, even when he was Robin.

After several hours (or had it been days?) on the computer Dick finally leaned back in his chair, his eyes drifting towards the nanobot controller resting on the counter.

_I need to get that back to the Titans, _he thought.

He shut down the main computer and headed towards the garage. He turned on the motorcycle. Before getting on it he twisted off Slade's insignia and tossed it away.

He drove out onto the road, the garage door automatically shutting behind him. Although he hadn't driven a motorcycle for a couple of years, the controls came back to him easily. Muscle memory and all that jazz. And the fact that Slade had designed this cycle exactly like the R-Cycle, possibly so that Dick would warm up to the idea of owning a new cycle.

It looked like the night had passed while he was on the computer, for the sun was rising in the east. Had it really been that long? He weaved in and out of traffic rather recklessly, occasionally earning a few angry honks from people he cut off.

Some of the Titans should be awake by now. Dick knew that the original Titans had broken up and moved on during the years. Cyborg was still their leader, but he knew that Starfire flitted in and out of Jump City. Sometimes, while in the main room of Slade's Haunt, he saw her characteristic streak of green light in the sky window as she passed by. Other young heroes had joined the Titans, both in this western establishment as well as the new Tower in the east. Sometimes Dick even heard the rumor that a new Robin was part of the Titans now, though apparently he operated both out of Gotham and Jump City whenever it suited him. Dick hoped that this Robin was having a better career than Dick had.

After five years the Titans still hadn't changed their hidden route to the front door: a hidden road that emerged from the water on a particular stretch of road. He drove right up to the Tower, knowing full well that the alarms would sound as soon as they realized who he was.

_Slade never made me go up to the front door and attack them, _Dick thought. _At least he never made me do that. _

He blinked as the world suddenly blurred. When he looked up at the Tower from this angle he got a sense of vertigo. Wow, that was rather high, wasn't it?

The front door slid open. One of the Titans stood in front of him. Dick squinted. He didn't recognize this Titan. Must be one of the younger ones. She wore a yellow-and-black costume he assumed was made to look like a bumblebee.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "Why are you here?"

"I could ask you the same," Dick replied. "Is Cyborg here? Or any of the original Titans?"

"You can't talk to them until you tell me why you're here."

He didn't have time for this. Well, technically, he now had all the time in the world, but Dick felt the need to make up for lost time. His voice, when he next spoke, held a desperate edge, and cracked slightly with emotion.

"Please," he said, unhooking the bag from his shoulder, "this isn't a trick or anything. They know who I am. Tell them I'm back."

He held out the bag to the girl, who looked reluctant to take it. His head spun, and he slowly became aware of a painful headache that seemed to squeeze his skull from all sides. His tongue felt dry and cracked, and his stomach nauseous. He didn't feel well at all.

"Tell them I'm sorry. So sorry. It's all over, and they don't have to worry about me anymore. No, on second thought I don't want to see them. They can have this. It's all the information they would possibly want on Slade. I'll be on my way. I don't want to be here. They probably don't want to see me. Why would they want to see me? Why…?"

Tears fell down his face as he spoke, though he was barely aware of them. He shook the bag, desperately wanting her to take it away from him. Comprehension dawned slowly on the girl's face as she realized who he was. Her wings went erect, her face scrunched into a defensive frown and her hands went to the stingers on her hips.

He dropped the bag, and the evidence spilled out all over the front porch. His headache rose to a thundering crescendo, and he couldn't take it anymore. The girl didn't have time to catch him as he collapsed, finally giving in to the awful sleep deprivation he had put himself through. As his world darkened he heard the girl call for help.

* * *

Flashing red and blue lights greeted him when he awoke. Dick was vaguely aware that he was strapped to a gurney and that an oxygen mask was strapped to his face. He lifted his head slightly and saw cop cars just outside the ambulance, where he was currently residing. A paramedic was at his side, inserting an IV carefully into Dick's arm.

"Hey," Dick said weakly, trying to sit up.

"No," the paramedic said, setting a hand on his shoulder gently. "Stay there. I'm giving you an IV because you're severely dehydrated. When was the last time you ate or drank something?"

"I don't know. What happened?"

"You collapsed in front of Titans Tower, so they called an ambulance."

The flashing lights told Dick that the cops had showed up with the ambulance. Dick knew why the cops were there. He was a criminal, so the Titans would treat him as such. It was only natural, after everything Dick had done.

"Have you ingested an excessive amount of alcohol?" The paramedic asked.  
"Or any drugs besides the cigarettes we found in your pocket?"

"No, not that I know of."

"When was the last time you slept, Sir?"

Sir. People calling him sir. What a laugh. "I don't remember."

The paramedic ticked something off on his clipboard.

"Is there something wrong with me?"

"Let's just keep you on that IV until you're properly hydrated. Get some sleep, eat some food and you'll be okay." The paramedic frowned slightly. "I also noticed several contusions and a possible concussion—"

"That doesn't surprise me," Dick replied. He looked at the police cars again, and to his surprise saw Cyborg talking to the cops. He couldn't hear what Cyborg was saying above all the noise and he couldn't read lips. "Do you know what will happen to me?"

"The Titans are sorting things out with the police," the paramedic replied. "But right now you need to sleep, eat and drink. If you feel too weak we can feed you intravenously—"

"Don't do that," Dick said at once. "Don't feed me through a tube. I don't want that."

Did he really look that bad? Nowadays he was barely aware of his own health. No matter what he did—eating healthy or exercising or whatever—he always felt exhausted. He had come to accept that that was his norm.

"All right. You do need to eat later, though. Your hunger contributed to your collapse, as well as the dehydration and sleep deprivation. You need to take better care of yourself."

Take better care of himself. He didn't even know where to begin, since all he wanted to do was…well…nothing. He laid his head back on the pillow and sighed. Eventually Dick drifted back to sleep.

* * *

_ Time seemed to move backwards for him in his dreams. Not in the sense that people walked backwards, or spoke spells backwards, or cackled in a bizarre manner, but how he relived his freshest memories from the past few years. _

_ In his lucid dreaming, he remembered asking Slade before if he was happy now that Dick was killing people. When he spoke then, it was with resignation. When he spoke with Slade now, in this dream-like state, he was aware of both the past and the future, yet when he spoke it was in the present. _

_ They were arguing. There was always an argument with Slade, even when nothing was said. When nothing was said they merely expressed their frustration in different ways, until both of them annoyed the other so much that nothing but a shouting match and a fistfight were necessary. _

_ What had started it? Dick didn't know. Anything Slade did could spark an argument, and it didn't even matter why it had started. _

_ The dreamlike memory seemed off, somehow, in his lucid state. The exact physical details were off; the numbers on the clocks were all different, no object seemed completely defined, yet the words spoken were exact. As he became aware that this was a dream, a memory relived in strange details, the world around him solidified. _

_ He was back in the Haunt, in the main room, his body standing defensively in front of Slade, harsh words tumbling out of his mouth in a scream. _

_ "You can't get away with this!" Dick shouted. "You know that in the end I won't EVER be Deathstroke. I will leave everything you've ever done in dust once you've kicked the bucket." _

_ "What do you possibly hope to do?" Slade demanded. "What do you hope to achieve once you've left me, hmm? You'll never get employment anywhere else. You have no education besides what I've given you, no money besides what you've earned, and would you use that money to pay for an education? You can't bring that money anywhere else without bringing attention to yourself. And even then, everyone will know that you worked for me. You have no other choice but to follow my path, my profession, not unless you want to be out in the street with no connections and nothing to your name. You've killed people, Dick. Wayne won't accept that. He won't accept you. The Titans won't accept you." _

_ But Dick had no choice! He didn't know the people he killed. While he felt sad for their deaths he didn't know those people. If they died, then so what? He felt sad for himself, certainly, but in the end he was selfish. He didn't want the Titans to die, so much that he was willing to kill other people for it, even if it hurt him. _

_ Everything Slade said was true. Those exact words had ruminated in Dick's mind for a long time, though he had been too terrified to dwell on them too long. He knew exactly how Slade was screwing his future over, and the fact that Slade was saying it out loud was too much for Dick. _

_ Dick took a deep breath, and said it before he became too scared to stop himself. "F-Fuck you." _

_ There. He said it. _

_ "What did you say?" Slade didn't even sound angry. Merely surprised that Dick had dared utter such an imprecation. _

_ "I said fuck you." _

_ The second time he said he felt more confident. He had insulted Slade many times before, but Dick had always stopped short of using this kind of language, though it was mostly out of an effort to keep himself out of trouble. Slade straightened to his full height, his anger simmering as Dick's words sunk in. This was it, Slade was going to kick his butt. _

_ "Apologize. Now." _

_ "Why should I apologize to you?" _

_ Slade moved to slap him, but Dick was ready. He caught Slade's wrist and managed to hold him off, his own arm shaking with effort. Slade's eye widened. He seemed to have forgotten that Dick could now hold his own. Dick eventually let go, and Slade took the opportunity to hit him. _

_ "Don't ever say that again," Slade snapped. "I don't call you a little shit, do I?" _

_ "I'm sure that's what you're thinking every time I don't do what you tell me to do." _

_ The expression on Slade's face was one Dick had seen many times: an expression of complete exasperation. "Accept it, Dick: without me, you would be nothing. Without Wayne you would have been nothing. Right now you are incapable of making your own decisions. You're not in control of your emotions. That's why you're saying the things you're saying." _

_ Slade was just as frustrated as Dick felt, though for opposing reasons. In many ways they were the same: both attempted to rationalize the others' behavior. Dick knew that Slade had family issues, as well as a number of control issues that he had worked through over the years. Slade, on the other hand, tried to make himself understand that Dick wasn't happy, tried to attribute the wrong reasons for Dick's sadness, which only exacerbated the situation. For years Dick had given in and endured, but he still couldn't stand it. _

_ "No, Slade. I know exactly what I'm saying, because I want you to listen to me. I want to be out of this fucking life. I want you to understand…I want you to listen…I want…" _

_ What did Dick want? He wanted the Titans to live, sure, and he didn't want anyone else to die, but what then? What did he want after this was all over? Nothing would ever go back to normal. _

_ "You don't have a plan," Slade said softly. "It's too late for you to turn back now. Accept it, Dick." _

_ He thought of the time he had killed someone for the first time. It had been just a little over a year ago, and he had killed around eleven people since, but he hated it. Perhaps he didn't deserve a happy ending. _

_ "You're right," Dick said. "I don't have a plan. Maybe a long time ago I had a plan, but I don't now." _

_ Although this memory was channeling itself through his dreams, Dick was uncomfortably self-conscious and eloquent in his self-analysis, and aware that most of his realizations would be forgotten the moment he awoke. Yet, for the moment, and even clouded with his guilt, he realized that he had been wrong, and accepted himself for it. _

_ Slade had not changed; merely his outward behavior had changed to suit the situation. His fundamental personality had not changed, as he had not budged in his insistence that Dick was the right heir to his criminal empire. _

_ Why did Dick do this to himself? Why did he keep going back to the belief that he could somehow make Slade listen, make him understand that what he was doing was wrong? Why did Dick delude himself into believing that Slade had changed, or continue believing that Slade could change, when the person who had changed the most was himself?_

* * *

The second time he awoke in the medical bay of Titans Tower. The IV was still attached to his arm, and he was also connected to a machine that monitored his vital signs, though he felt like he wasn't in any real danger and that the machine was unnecessary. An empty glass and a pitcher of water sat on the table next to the bed.

There was no one else in the room besides him. Dick wondered if there was a Titan standing guard just outside the door. The curtains around his bed were pulled back, so he could see the whole room. It was late morning, judging by the sunlight flooding the room from one wall. The wide window gave him a sense of openness, a comforting view of Jump City from the bay. He saw clouds in the distance, which foretold a light shower that night.

The door opened. Dick glimpsed another Titan—Superboy, wasn't it?—standing guard just outside the door. Superboy held the door open as an older woman came into the room carrying a tray of food.

"Thank you, young man," the woman said to Superboy. "You don't have to come in with me. It'll be all right."

Superboy glared at Dick, as though he expected him to jump up and start attacking everyone. Hmm. Smart of Cyborg to put the Kryptonian out as a guard. It would be harder to Dick to beat the Kryptonian, who was on par with Superman's strength.

After a few seconds he recognized the woman.

"Leslie," he said in a choked voice. "What are you doing here? Why aren't you with Bruce?"

Leslie Thompson, Bruce Wayne's personal doctor, set down the tray of food on the bedside table. She looked exactly as he remembered her, but, perhaps, with a few more lines of worry on her face.

"Bruce wanted me to come out here to help you," Leslie said, grasping his hand warmly. "Once he heard that you were here he asked me to fly out. He thought a familiar face would help you."

"Help with what?" Dick demanded.

Leslie was the one who would have treated Bruce after Bane broke his back. Dick's life wasn't even in danger—so why would she fly all the way out here just to be with Dick?

"Getting your life back together," Leslie said quietly.

She moved the tray in front of him and poured him a glass of water. She set some other things on the nightstand as well: nicotine patches and special gum to help wean people off cigarettes. Oh. He looked away from the nightstand and watched Leslie instead. As she waited for him to start eating Leslie began tinkering with the medical equipment.

"I brought some food up for you. The paramedic told me that you haven't eaten in a few days and drank very little water. Is this true?"

"Yes."

"Why haven't you eaten?"

"Because I feel sick to my stomach every time I try."

It was easier to talk to Leslie than he thought possible. He wanted to stay silent, but he knew that he couldn't. He had to tell someone what happened, or else they would continue treating him like a criminal.

_Well, I do deserve it. _

"The Titans told me what happened five years ago, as well as Bruce." Leslie looked at him sadly. "And before I ask anything else, the Titans want to know if Slade will attack Titans Tower."

"No," Dick replied in a low voice. "Slade won't come after them ever again. He won't come after me either. It's all over, Leslie. I murdered him."

He started shaking again.

"I see," Leslie said in a low voice, "when did this happen?"

"Two days ago."

"And you haven't slept or eaten since then?"

"Hardly."

Wow, he hadn't even been aware that he hadn't eaten anything. Now he felt hunger gnawing at his stomach, and the bowl of chicken soup, bread and a glass of water suddenly seemed a feast. But at the same time he felt as though he would vomit if he started eating again…

"Dick," Leslie said quietly, "You're going to be okay."

Okay, okay. Everything was going to be okay.

"You've grown up," Leslie said, laying a hand on his cheek. "Everyone back in Gotham will be so surprised at how handsome you are now. Everyone will be happy to see you."

Dick was overwhelmed by a sudden desire to hug her, but he didn't move. It had been a long time since he had hugged anyone, and now seemed a foreign concept to him. He felt like he didn't deserve a hug after all he had done. Leslie seemed to sense his reluctance and, thankfully, didn't press him. She drew her hand away and looked away from him.

"Here's a communicator, if you would like to talk to Bruce," Leslie said, setting a Bat communicator on the nightstand. "He would like to talk to you, when you're ready."

"Will you tell him what I've done?"

"Would you like me to tell him? Or do you want to tell him yourself?"

He had to admit his wrongdoing, just like a child. In that moment Leslie sounded like Wintergreen, just after Dick confessed that he had done something wrong and was frightened of what Slade would do. "I don't know."

Dick didn't deserve any of this. Leslie should be back in Gotham taking care of Bruce. And who was there now to take care of him? What had happened to Batman now? Who was protecting Gotham? Did another JLA take over the mantle in lieu of Bruce and Dick's absence?

"Everything will be all right in time, Dick," Leslie said softly. "The pain will pass. Your friends will come in later today. Right now I want you to eat, drink lots of water and get plenty of rest. Take a shower and change clothes. Once you do that you'll feel a lot better. I promise."  
"Okay." He looked around the room and, for some reason, felt disgusted. He didn't want to be in Titans Tower. He didn't want to have to confront anyone about his past. At least not soon. He had intended to go away after dropping off the evidence to one of the Titans. He certainly didn't want to stay in the medical bay for too long. "Can you close the curtains so I can sleep?"

Leslie smiled before she closed the hospital curtains around him, once again leaving him alone with his thoughts.


	10. Chapter 10: An Afternoon Shower

**Disclaimer: I don't own anyone. **

**A/N: Hi guys! I know I said that the last chapter would be the last before the end of the year, and I planned to have this chapter done by Wednesday or Thursday, but I'm getting this out of the way so I can use my last week of vacation to finish other important things before the New Year. **

**Chapter 10: An Afternoon Shower**

* * *

It rained while he slept. Not a rumbling thunderstorm that shook the Tower, but a light shower that cleared up by the late afternoon.

Leslie came by to check on him a few hours later, when he had awoken from his nap. She took out the IV, though told him sternly that he needed to drink lots of water. Dick nodded, and she left him to his own devices.

He took a shower and scrubbed away his worries, and once he was finished he changed into clothes that had been left out for him. Nothing special, and certainly not his old Robin uniform. They seemed to belong to one of the newer Titans, for they were a little large on him.

Leslie did not return. Perhaps she was off speaking to Bruce about his medical condition, or maybe talking with the Titans. Dick didn't think he was hurt that badly. Even after his encounter with Bane he hadn't broken any ribs. Maybe bruised them a little, but Dick had allowed himself to be captured and therefore avoided serious injury.

Dick didn't mind that Leslie left him alone. He wanted to be left alone with his thoughts, even though they corroded his already unstable thoughts. Talking with people just made everything worse. No one would want to talk about his problems with him. They didn't want to hear about it, so he wouldn't bother them. So he ended up laying down on the bed and closing his eyes. He didn't fall asleep, but simply rested and listened to the ocean lapping against the base of the Tower.

He opened his eyes as something—or someone—sat on his bed. A green dog laid its head on the bed near his head, looking at Dick sadly, its tail wagging slightly when Dick noticed him. When Dick didn't budge the dog nudged his hand with its snout.

"Hey Beast Boy," Dick said, laying his hand on the dog's head.

The dog whined softly, an awful kind of whine that conveyed more than Beast Boy could ever say in words. Dick took his hand off Beast Boy's head, clearly unsettled.

Beast Boy turned around and trotted towards the door. Beast Boy didn't change back to his human form. Instead he bobbed his head, silently asking Dick to follow him. Dick grabbed a packet of gum from the nightstand, unwrapped a stick and popped it in his mouth. The urge to smoke grew stronger with every passing minute, and he knew that Leslie had thrown away any he had left in his jacket pocket.

They walked down the hallway towards the main room. Dick stopped outside the room that used to be his. Before he had left the Titans there used to be a plaque outside his door. Now someone else occupied the room. Well, at least the Titans had moved on.

"Dude…" Dick turned around. Beast Boy had finally assumed his human form. "You coming or what?"

Beast Boy wasn't trying to crack a joke or anything. He was quite serious, and maybe because he had no idea how Dick was going to act. He was treating Dick cautiously, like a criminal, even if he didn't realize it.

"Yeah," Dick replied. "I'm coming."

Everyone looked at him when he entered the main room. Resentment filled him as he walked past the Titans, though he didn't know why. Did he resent them for what had happened? Did he blame their existence for the way Slade had used them to control him? He pushed away these unhealthy thoughts, though he felt guilty for thinking them in the first place.

There were a lot of people he didn't recognize at first. Then he remembered their profiles that Slade had made him study, just so he knew how to fight them if they had to engage during a mission. Even though everyone was sitting—or lounging—on the couch, they were not relaxed.

"Take a seat," Cyborg said, gesturing towards an empty chair.

Dick sat down. Everyone else was facing him, and he felt like he was on trial; facing a panel of judges for everything he had done in the past five years.

"Can ya'll give us some privacy?" Cyborg asked the other kids. "We need some time alone."

"But what if he—" Superboy began.

"I won't attack any of you," Dick said. "I have no reason to."

After a moment the other young heroes left the room. As they filed out of the room Dick looked around and admired the re-modeling. They had redecorated over the years. It looked nice.

"We reviewed the evidence in that bag you gave to Bumblebee," Cyborg said. "You say there's more?"

"I'm in the process of clearing out Slade's Haunt. You can go there and take whatever you want."

Business, business, it was all about business at the moment. It was clear that each party was trying their best to hold their emotions back. They couldn't break down. Not just yet. Not until they were certain that this wasn't a trap, and that they could trust one another. Dick wished that it didn't have to be this way, but unfortunately he knew that he would have to prove his innocence before the Titans would trust him again.

"Mr. Wayne's doctor said that you killed Slade," Cyborg said. "Is this true?"

"Yes, I murdered him."

Every time he admitted it the words became easier to say. It was unnerving, but it was the truth, and he couldn't hide behind lies anymore. The Titans glanced at each other.

"So it's true," Beast Boy said, his ears drooping.

Why wasn't Raven saying anything? Her hood wasn't even down. Her face was clouded in shadow, and she refused to look at him in the eye.

"Where's Starfire?" Dick said.

Every single original Titan was there except for her. Why didn't Dick notice it before?

"She's outside," Cyborg said. "She doesn't live here anymore. She got here last after we found you here."

"I see," Dick replied.

So she didn't want to see him right away. Well, he didn't blame her. If she didn't want to see him right away, then he wasn't going to make a fuss about it.

"We don't know what to think, Dick," Cyborg said. "It's been five years, man. What do you want us to say?"

"What do you want me to say?" Dick demanded. "Aside from Gotham, this is the only other home I have. I'm not taking over Slade's business."

"The only evidence we haven't seen is Slade's body," Cyborg said. "Until we know for sure—"

"Is it because I killed him?" Dick demanded. "Is that why you don't trust me? Do you really believe that Slade sent me here to do you harm?"

Everyone merely looked at each other. Beast Boy looked guilty, as though he hated how Cyborg was treating Dick, and his ears drooped even more as he looked from Dick to Cyborg. Dick hated how coldly business-like Cyborg was acting, but he didn't blame him. Of course the Titans would treat him this way, after everything Dick had done.

"Was it an accident?" Raven asked.

"No," Dick replied. "It wasn't an accident. I murdered him during a contract. I murdered him because I…had…to…get…out."

For the first time since he started talking to the Titans his voice wavered. Was he admitting that it wasn't an accident now? Was he finally taking responsibility for his actions?

"Look," Cyborg said, his voice softening, "it's both rough for all of us, and you most of all. But no one except the original Titans understand what you've done for us. And even then, we haven't talked to you for five years. Me, personally…I don't know you anymore. I don't know how I can trust you, even though I know how much you've done for us."

As Dick looked at all of them he realized how true this was. When he formed the Titans everyone was a kid. Now they were all young adults, and the years had changed them all. They may have known each other well a long time ago, but now they seemed complete strangers. At best, they were all mere shadows of the people he had known, for time changed people.

"Kicking you out isn't the right thing to do," Cyborg said. "You can stay here as long as you need to, man, but I know that Mr. Wayne is calling you back to Gotham. Maybe it would be best for you to go home, Dick."

"I don't want to go back to Gotham. Not just yet."

"You do know what happened, don't you?" Raven asked.

"Bane tried to kill me." Dick's expression did not change. He had to keep his emotions in check, least they betrayed him again. "He told me that he wants to kill everyone Bruce holds dear, and that he would kill me in front of Bruce. That was when I learned what had happened to Bruce."

"So you snapped," Cyborg said.

"If you want to put it that way…"

"Ah, dude, he didn't mean it like that," Beast Boy cut-in with an uneasy laugh. "Like…well…"

Everyone shut up. Even Cyborg looked like he regretted his choice of words.

"You saw the evidence," Dick said finally. "I gave it to you to give you some idea of what hell I've been living through. Do whatever you want with me. If you want to arrest me, then go ahead. I won't stop you."

"The question isn't 'what are we going to do with you,'" Raven said. "It's 'what are you going to do?'"

"I haven't thought this all the way through. I don't know."

Cyborg sighed. "Like I said: stay here as long as you need to. We said we'd be here for you, so we'll be here for you."

Dick was done talking. He was rather surprised that he hadn't broken down yet, but maybe that was because he was too tired to do anything. Just mentally exhausted. Maybe going outside would help his headache, and then back inside for dinner and a nap. Maybe it would help all of them talk this through.

"I'm going out for a walk," he said, getting up from his seat.

* * *

No one stopped him from walking out of the Tower.

He didn't know how to feel about that. While he didn't want anyone to worry about him, he also wanted some indication that they cared. His emotions were all over the place, even if his face didn't show it, and he needed some time alone before talking to them again. Everything outside was wet from the afternoon shower. The wet dirt smelled rather nice as he walked around the base of the Tower. As he walked underneath some trees droplets of water fell on his head.

As he rounded the corner he saw something unfamiliar: six raised wooden vegetable beds on the ground. Half of them were full of dirt and the little starts were already assembled. The only thing he recognized were the lettuce leaves. A woman with a huge mop of red hair walked towards the boxes, and Dick recognized her at once.

Starfire had always been tall, but she had grown in the last few years, just as Dick had. Everything about her seemed more strange and wild than he remembered. She wasn't wearing her typical purple uniform, but grungy clothes and old tennis shoes bespattered with dirt. Gardening gloves covered her hands, and she carried a bag of planting mix on one shoulder. Her knees were covered in dirt from when she knelt in the ground to care for her plants, and Dick found that he could not stop staring at them. After a moment he caught himself, and looked up at her face.

"You garden?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied. "I work here occasionally. It is the springtime, so I must work. We donate the vegetables to shelters in the city once they are ready."

When she spoke he noticed that her usual foreign stiffness was gone. While there was a trace of her Tamaranean accent still present in her words, she seemed to finally have a grasp on the English language.

"I see," Dick replied.

She turned around continued pouring the planting mix into the raised bed. Dick nearly tripped on the wire gopher baskets as he walked over to her.

"Hand me that one," Starfire said, pointing to another bag of dirt leaning against the wooden box.

"But it's different—"

"Yes, that is the point. We must amend the soil. Do you wish to help me?"

Dick stopped to stare at her. Just who was she now? Still pretty—no, now she was _beautiful—_but a stranger. Since when had Starfire been interested in gardening? What other hobbies had she cultivated? He handed her the bag, and the weight caused every tired muscle in his body to groan in pain. Digging around in the dirt wasn't exactly his idea of fun, so he decided to decline.

"I still feel tired," Dick said, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Thanks, but maybe later."

He felt silly just standing there watching her work. She seemed to know what she was doing, and he couldn't help but admire her for it. Though he felt much better after his nap and some food, he still felt immensely tired. Sluggish, almost.

"So, you killed Slade," Starfire said, not looking at him.

"Yes."

"There is a word from my planet called _rutha," _she said. "It means 'weak.' It is the closest equivalent to 'nice' in my language. The people of Tamaran are a warrior race, and we do not look down upon killing if it is necessary for our survival. I have read some of the history of Earth, and I know that many of your warriors believe the same. When I escaped from my Gordanian captors I killed some of them. It was inevitable. It was the only way I could free myself."

_Rutha_…weak…

Yes, he was weak. He was _rutha_. Was he nice? No, but he was weak. He wasn't nice because he agreed to commit such terrible crimes. He was weak because he had allowed Slade to manipulate him.

"Some may call you_ rutha_ for waiting so long to kill him. But…I will not." Starfire took off her gardening gloves and tossed them to the side. "Do not mistake our aloofness for abandonment. We will not abandon you, and we are not disgusted to see you."

How was she able to put his uneasiness into words? His eyes blurred with sudden tears, and he wiped them quickly on the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

"I almost forgot about the Gordanians," he said, avoiding her gaze. "I forgot a lot of things, to be honest."

"I understand."

There was gravity to her words; something about her tone made him believe that she truly understood, or at least was trying to understand as best as she could.

"What happens next?" Starfire asked.

"I don't know." Dick looked towards the bay. If the alarm sounded for an emergency, would he go and help them fight the bad guy of the week? No, he wouldn't. They wouldn't trust him, and he couldn't blame them. "I won't stick around. I'll be leaving."

"For Gotham?"

"Probably."

Starfire looked at him and did not avoid his gaze. "Many things have happened while you were away. We have lost many friends and gained some. We've missed you, but the others don't know how to express it. I believe Raven feels your emotions and does not speak because she is simply attempting to absorb it all, attempting to understand you through her empathy. Beast Boy will try to speak with you later. And Cyborg…he is conflicted because you have admitted that you murdered Slade."

"I killed him for a cause, but that doesn't make it right."

"What would have happened if you did not kill him?"

"Someone else would have died. I would still be there."

"Do you not remember how I nearly destroyed this city when I came to Earth? You only killed one man to save yourself and others. I nearly destroyed an entire city for my freedom."

"It's not the same."

"Maybe not. But I understand, Dick, or at least I wish to understand. We all do." She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. "We have missed you, even if we do not show it."

Dick stepped away from her. He did not push her away, but gently lifted her hand from his shoulder and stepped back.

Perhaps the sudden shock of having him back, without any sort of fight or escalating drama, scared the Titans. How could they believe him if they didn't see the evidence? If they didn't see Slade's corpse? And they knew that Slade left Dick his criminal empire, so why wouldn't Dick become the next Deathstroke?

This shock left them all emotionally bereft. They could not comfort him because they did not know how. They didn't want to be near him because they did not know him anymore, and anything they said could worsen the situation. However, perhaps some time alone was what Dick needed at the moment.

* * *

**A/N: Things will pick up in the next few chapters. I promise. **

**Review! **


	11. Chapter 11: An Intervention

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. **

**A/N: This chapter ended up being pretty difficult for me to write for several reasons I shall not get into. But I do hope you enjoy it. **

**Chapter 11: An Intervention**

* * *

Late that night Leslie conducted a more thorough medical examination on Dick with a furrowed brow and pursed lips. She drew blood from him, wrote things down on her clipboard, and did not speak for the majority of the exam.

He did not see much of the Titans until late the next morning. It wasn't their fault—the alarm sounded every other hour, it seemed. They had to go off, leaving Dick alone in the Tower with Silkie. The newer Titans went off on their separate ways and avoided him. Most were too busy to devote their attention to him, but Dick knew that they were just being cautious. How could they trust him? They seemed unsure how to treat him, though some of the people he had met before greeted him without reservation. Roy Harper came into town with a baby in tow—his daughter Lian—slung over his back. Roy shook Dick's hand and patted him on the back.

"I was passing by and thought to stop by. Good to have you back, shortpants," he said.

"Nice to see you too, Roy."

Aside from Roy Harper, Dick didn't really make an effort to greet anyone else. He supposed that eventually people were going to flood the Tower once they heard that Dick was back. The JLA would probably be one of the first to stop by. Dick hoped that they would warn him before they stormed in.

Leslie told him to rest and relax, but Dick couldn't stay in bed all day. He couldn't do anything to relax. The book he had been reading was still in his room at the Haunt. Playing video games was bound to give him a headache. Watching TV or a movie felt…unproductive. Relaxing wasn't going to help anyone.

Dick went around with a ladder and a toolbox, making his rounds in each room as he took down all of the cameras Slade had installed when the Titans weren't looking. As he worked quietly, ignoring the stares from the Titans who passed by, he thought about many things.

What would he do? Would he acquiesce to Slade's last request and take the money to Adeline Kane and their son? It was, undoubtedly, the request of a desperate man who had lost everything, a man who could no longer keep in contact with his remaining family because of every single stupid decision he had made. If they didn't want to talk to Slade, then Dick shouldn't bring up bad memories for them. They had gotten away when they could.

"Keeping busy, I see."

Dick looked down and saw Cyborg looking up at him. Dick descended and tossed the box of destroyed cameras on the floor.

"You'll want these out, even if Slade's not watching anymore."

"Did you help him with those cameras?"

Dick did a double-take. Why would Cyborg say such a thing? _He really does think I'm a criminal. Maybe Slade was right. _

"No," Dick replied. "They were installed a long time before I left."

"Didn't mean to be rude. I was just curious. Do you have a plan?"

"No," Dick said. "I have no plan, except for clearing out Slade's Haunt. I'll leave tonight."

"I don't think so."

Dick paused, now looking at Cyborg full in the face. The other Titans had crept up to them as he spoke. What was this, an intervention? Dick tensed.

"What are you guys doing?" he asked cautiously.

"We wish to persuade you to rest," Starfire said. "If you believe that Slade is still a threat, even in death, then you should stop him. But please, allow us to assist you. Tell us what needs to be done."

"I'll take care of everything. You don't need to see anything. I don't want you to."

"Isn't that what you said last time?" Raven asked. "And look what happened—"

"I was a kid then!" Dick snapped. "I didn't know any better."

"So why won't you let us help you now?" Beast Boy asked.

They had surrounded him, each Titan ready to tackle him if he tried to escape. Even without powers he could take them all down, at least when Slade had told him to. Dick didn't answer Beast Boy. He knew that he didn't have a good answer for him.

"You're in no condition to go back out there," Cyborg said. "You have to stay here."

"I can't stay inside, Cyborg," Dick replied. "I can't be locked up anymore."

Why was he refusing help? It didn't make any sense. "I don't want anyone else to get hurt."

"Kind of contradictory, don't you think? You got in trouble because you couldn't trust us, and even now, after all this time, you still don't trust us."

_ "Shut up!" _

The Titans stared at him. They didn't believe that Slade dead. They would never believe that Slade was dead, not until they saw his body. And even then, what? As far as Dick knew, the Titans didn't know Slade's true identity. The Robin they knew would have never killed another human being.

Shamed by his sudden outburst, Dick spun on his heel and stalked down the hallway back towards the main room.

"Dude, where are you going?" Beast Boy demanded.

"You're not leaving the Tower," Cyborg said.

"What?" Dick snapped. "Are you following Bruce's orders?"

Their uneasy side-glances told Dick that, yes, the Titans were following Batman's orders. Dick snorted. "Typical."

"He just wants to make sure you're okay," Raven said. "He'll provide the transportation back to Gotham when you're ready to leave."

"Is that what he thinks? Does he really think that he can call me back after five years of _nothing? _You failed to help me, _he_ failed to help me, but he still thinks that he can call me now? Like I'm some kind of lap dog who will come when he whistles? I've had enough of that."

They stared at him. It wasn't their fault—Dick knew that—but who else could he shout at? He wasn't going to come crying back to Bruce like a good little sidekick. He was no longer a child. Dick may have made a mistake leaving Bruce all those years ago to strike out on his own, but that was all done and over with.

"I'm not ready for this," Dick said, turning away. "I can't go back to Gotham. Not now. Not like this."

He didn't want to accept that the Titans had moved on without him. Facing Bruce again was too much. He couldn't even handle talking with the Titans, so how could he possibly face Bruce? Bruce, who had taken in him. Bruce, who had treated Dick like a son. Bruce, who in so many ways was like Slade. Strict. Determined. Obdurate. No more, no more.

"I need you," Dick said. "I need all of you. I don't want to be alone. Not again."

Raven hugged him. He expected anyone but Raven to hug him first. She spoke in a low voice. "You're not alone. Everyone is with you. We're all on your side."

He hugged her tightly, shutting his eyes as he fought back tears. Beast Boy came bounding up to them as a dog, leaping on top of Dick to lick his face enthusiastically.

"Beast Boy—" Dick started laughing as he fought off Beast Boy. "Stop it."

Dick's laughter slipped into sobs as he curled up into the fetal position and flung his arms over his head, wanting nothing more than to sink into the floor and disappear forever.

Everyone just stood around him and watched him cry. Dick was terribly aware that he was pathetic. None of them had ever seen him like this, so weak and broken and completely useless. He didn't deserve them. He was unworthy of being their friend; how could he even consider himself their friend? He didn't have any friends. They had nothing in common anymore. He shouldn't be here and they shouldn't be taking care of him. They were only taking care of him for old time's sake.

"I'm sorry for the way I've treated you," Cyborg said. "This isn't the way we should be treating you, Dick. You're our friend. You've never been our enemy."

Dick caught his breath. He had to control his emotions. Be rational, Grayson. Being emotional will not help.

"Don't be sorry," Dick replied. "I probably would have done the same."

Would he have? Dick really didn't know.

"No, I am sorry," Cyborg said. "You don't need to be treated like a criminal, and that's how we treated you. It wasn't right."

"Why not? I've committed terrible crimes. You have all the evidence you need to arrest. So why don't you do it?"

Silence rang between them.

"Do not say that," Starfire said. "Please, you do not mean it."

"How can you possibly know that?" His voice shook when he spoke. "I agreed to work for him. I agreed to follow his orders because I didn't want to get hurt. I mean every word I say."

"It's extortion—" Cyborg began.

"But where does the gray line end?" Dick looked up and found all four of the others looking down at him in concern. "When did I stop being coerced and when did I start doing things out of my own free will? And at what cost?"

He was rambling now. No matter how many times he told himself that he would control his emotions, he simply couldn't. There were no repercussions for emotional outbursts now. Slade wouldn't hit him, or belittle him, or use his emotions against him. The only thing an outburst would do to Dick now was hurt what little pride he had left.

"Dick," Raven said, "Dick, look at me."

Dick looked at her. Like the rest of the Titans, Raven seemed a little older, a little wiser, a little more worn and weary of the world. Something terrible had happened to her since he had been gone. He could hear it in her words and see it in the lines of her face.

"No matter what Slade told you, no matter what you may believe about us now because of him, we care," Raven said. "There aren't any tricks. No catch. No backstabbing. Our friendship is unconditional."

He completely lost it. It wasn't just a fit of crying now—he screamed. He wanted to punch something, let out every single awful emotion that had been building inside him for years and years. Anger and doubt and guilt and a thousand other emotions that had betrayed him over the years were finally let loose.

What did he expect? A happy ending? There was no such thing as a happy ending. Not for him.

"You don't understand," Dick said. "I killed him. I didn't want to do it, but I did. I couldn't take it anymore. I killed him and I feel sorry for him. But at the same time I don't regret it. I killed that asshole and I ended it all. I killed him, and because I did things can never go back to normal."

There, he admitted it. He was glad Slade was dead. How could his friendships with the Titans be unconditional if they knew this about him?

"You're right, Dick, we don't understand," Raven said. "So help us understand."

"You can't understand."

"Dick, don't think like that," Raven said. "Even if you were here on Slade's orders, we'd want to make sure you're okay." She knelt down next to him and cupped his head in her heads. Her hands were warm, soft and gentle. "You are not weak, Dick."

Maybe not weak, but certainly useless. He wasn't of any use to anyone here in Jump City. He was just dead weight. He was not Robin anymore, and another kid held his title. Without Slade, he was nobody. And to be honest, that was just fine with Dick.

"You destroyed Slade," Starfire said. "You ended it all on your own."

"No," Dick said. "No, I didn't. Jackal gave me the gun. He told me to kill Slade, or he would go ahead and kill you. So I did it."

"Do not minimalize your actions," Starfire replied. "It is unhealthy to think this way."

"We want to help you, but we don't know how," Beast Boy said. "Unless you talk to us we don't know what to say."

"We will give you all the help you require," Starfire said. "Please, do not leave us because of Slade. Not again."

Dick sat up.

"Yeah, it's not fair to us," Beast Boy said. "We know you're scared, but leaving everyone will make everything worse. We want you around."

Scared? Whoever said he felt scared?

"I don't want this," Dick said in a shaking voice. "I don't deserve this."

"Everyone deserves kindness," Starfire said. "Those who did not believe they do are the ones who need it the most. You have kept us alive at the cost of your own life. Allow us to repay you in kind."

Despite the words that came out of Dick's mouth he knew that every word the Titans said was sensible. Slade had been a lying shit who told him that the Titans wouldn't accept him, that he was no longer worth anything to them because he was a fully-fledged criminal.

"I just need to be left alone for a while," Dick said quietly. "Please."

When the other Titans started protesting Raven held out a hand. "If you feel that that is the best thing for you right now, then we'll leave you alone."

Starfire, Cyborg, Beast Boy—all of them thrived off of being with people. While Dick regretted not spending time with them when he could have, he did not want to be with them now. He didn't want his time dictated by other people, even if they meant it in good faith. He didn't want them to talk to him, or even listen to him—he only wanted to know that they would be there if he needed them.

One by one the Titans left him, until Raven was the only one left.

"It must be hard being back," she said, not looking at him. "Knowing that Wayne is injured, knowing that we all are, knowing that you are."

Dick didn't look at her. He pushed himself to his feet and looked to the side. "I need to deal with one thing at a time, and I don't want anyone to tell me what to do. I've had enough of that."

"I understand."

"You have no plan?"

"I'll go back to Gotham when I'm ready. That's my only plan."

"But you don't want to go back?"

"No. I just know that I have to. Bruce is injured and Bane has declared war on the house of Wayne." He sighed. "I may not want to go, but I know that people need me over there. I'm sure the JLA is protecting everyone since Batman is gone, but they don't know those crooks like I do. I still have plenty of unfinished business to take care of." Dick looked up at her. "I'll leave tomorrow morning for Gotham. If one of you could tell Bruce that, then that would be great."

"All right, Dick."

For hours and days, even years, he had daydreamed about being back in Titans Tower, his real home. And now that he was here he realized that this wasn't the place he needed to be. It was a strange feeling, to be sure, and he felt confused. Why wouldn't he want to be with his friends? Meeting with Bruce would be far worse. The Titans could easily forgive him, but Bruce? No.

Regardless, he knew he had an obligation to go back, if only for Barbara and Alfred's sakes. Even though he didn't want to go back, even if Gotham was full of bad memories, anywhere that Dick went could bring back memories. If there was anything that Slade had taught him, it was that he had to face his fears to survive.

And, after all, Gotham was still home, even after all this time.

End of Part 1


End file.
